MyCoR 2: Be Still: Chances
by Amita4ever
Summary: Riddick's history is piecemeal at best, and a lot happened before PITCH BLACK. What were the Wailing Wars? Where'd the million credit bounty come from? Why does he hate God? My take on Riddick's past. Reviews appreciated!
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**FORMALITIES**

**COPYRIGHTS:** The character Richard Riddick, as well as the names Tangiers Penal Colony, Sigma 3, Wailing Wars, Crematoria and other references taken from the context of the movies Pitch Black, The Chronicles of Riddick, their novelizations and their official websites are borrowed from Universal Studios. The manner of their use, and everything else in Chances, is the creative creation of FanFic Member Amita4ever.

**RATING**: (This is, of course, about Riddick, but it's tame by the movies' standards. If however, at any time, you feels this rating needs to be changed, please inform me through my profile)  
**Rated - **T** - for:** **  
Language:** medium  
**Sex/Nudity:** none  
**Violence:** medium  
**Other:**

**SUMMERY:**Riddick's history is piecemeal at best, and a lot happened to him before PITCH BLACK. What were the Wailing Wars? Where'd the million credit bounty come from? Why does he hate God? My take on Riddick's past.**  
****ARCHIVES:** What's that?  
**ON RIDDICK'S TIMELINE:** Takes place less than a year after Riddick's first prison break, previous to getting his eyes shined & the movie Pitch Black. _(For a more exact location, see __The History of Riddick: A Writer's Tool__. It's Riddick's __history from official sources for the use of writers who like to pull on (or fit their stories in the vicinity of) the 'official' canon of the character. S__ince I posted it, I took the liberty of noting the location of my stories in it :o)  
_This is the second tale in a story arc I have created for Riddick that tries to fill in some of the space left by the movies while staying within the canon (universe and timeline) laid out by Universal Studios. Most stories in this arc are stand-alone with only minor references to previous stories so if you haven't read "what came before this" one don't sweat it :o).

**WHAT CAME BEFORE THIS: **(My other stories & their current status)**  
Saved by Grace** (in progress) - 30 years before TCoR a man sought his future and certain events were set in motion... during the destruction of Furya an infant was left in a trashcan to die, his own umbilical 'artfully' wrapped around his neck. How'd he survive? My take.

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**AS ALWAYS, REVIEWS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED**  
(Good or bad, I value them all, but specific and/or constructive are treasured)

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**PROLOGUE**

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Judge Nachman looked down from the bench, "Richard Riddick, you are only 15 years old, but because of your persistence in defying regulations and your propensity for violent behavior during these past two years since you were sentenced to Corisone Correctional Colony for Juveniles it has been determined that you are beyond even their last ditch methods. Your young age makes me reluctant to authorize the early transfer to an adult facility that has been requested so I am taking a chance and selecting you for RECCooP, the new Remote Education through Civilian Cooperatives Program. It is thus I remand you into the guardianship of Raspin Grycov's Mercenary guild where I hope they might find an occupation for you that will serve as an appropriate channel for the hostility that resides in your heart. They have accepted the responsibility of your custody, discipline and training until you reach majority at the age of 18, at which time you will be considered an adult able to make decisions and commitments…" he paused, then continued in a ominous voice, "and legally capable of accepting the full consequences, good or bad, of your choices. Mr. Anderson, you may step forward and take charge of Grycov Mercenaries' newest conscript."

The Merc guild representative stepped up looking raw and dangerous even without his weapons and the judge watched as the boy looked the representative over. The look in young Riddick's eye was not intimidation, or even concern, but rather cool indifference and evaluation. For his part the merc eyed the young man distrustfully. He had been fully briefed as to the boy's tendencies and skills, and he wasn't expecting the youngster to come willingly. Above them both, the judge watched the exchange, aware there was something about the boy that troubled him. The judge had spent a long time going over the files of this young man; longer than most as he weighed his decision. Richard Riddick was a loner, intelligent, calculating - all of that showed in his records - but there was something else as well. A sense of pent up fury and curiously fractured ethics that made the judge wonder where the boy might be right now if his adoptive parents hadn't died so young. Pediatric specialists indicated that foundational morals were in place by the age of three, but young Riddick's adoptive parents had died shortly after he turned two, nor had the foster system done him many favors. By the age of seven he had been labeled incorrigible and permanently relegated to the juvenile detention system.

Once there the difficulty in keeping him contained and recovering him when he escaped only became more problematic as he grew in age and experience. To call the boy a problem child was the understatement of the century. When his last attempt actually got him off planet, he was transferred to Corisone Colony – all the measures of a maximum security prison devoted to one last attempt to recover seriously delinquent youth before condemnation to hard time for the rest of their lives. While young Mr. Riddick had not managed to escape Corisone, he had, on multiple occasions, obtained for himself liberties others did not enjoy right up to the point when it was determined he had earned himself a one-way ticket to an adult slam. It was Peter Nachman's duty to authorize it, but he had balked – sending this 15-year-old boy to live out the rest of his life among hardened convicts of the worse kind was not something his conscience could condone so the judge had taken it upon himself to give the boy one last chance. With the right mentor, the judge thought, this boy still had a chance to straighten his course and truly turn his life around, perhaps make something great of himself, although Judge Nachman feared what might happen if this young rebel ever found his peculiar nobilities challenged. The judge watched the two leave the courtroom and felt an odd urging in his soul.

Following the impulse, Judge Nachman called a break before the next case could convene. It was most certainly a breech in protocol, but there was something different about this boy that set him apart from so many of the others the judge dealt with every day and he felt a need to act. He stopped by his chambers briefly, then hurriedly made his way through the judges' secure corridors until he stood outside the courthouse. He watched through the window as the mercenary rep collected his weapons from the RECCooP Representatives' desk, then young Riddick's restraints were removed and he was handed his few belongings in a small duffle bag. It was as they stepped through the secure door to leave the judge stepped in front of them. The Merc rep was certainly surprised by his presence, but even young Mr. Riddick seemed to recognize the unusualness of the situation, and the judge hoped that might give the boy reason to pause and consider his words as he addressed himself not to the mercenary, but the boy himself.

"Richard, I feel you are an individual of rare potential who would truly be wasted in the penal system," the judge intoned quietly, "I know it is in your nature to rebel against authority, and you may even now be planning how you might get away from this obligation you feel I have forced on you…" from the voluminous sleeves of his judicial robe he pulled a bundle of leather straps and metal and placed it in the boy's hands. He saw immediately that the boy recognized the collection as the curious blades and their harness that had been confiscated at Corisone. Young Riddick had been caught with them during the traditional phase of a metalworking course; good old-fashioned forge and hammer blacksmithing. It was part of a longer program designed to teach the boys assigned to it skills that could channel extra energy and latent hostility while also giving them respected professions that would make them desirable to an outpost or in a colony where technology was limited and basic human adaptability and tenacity were a necessity.

Somehow young Riddick had managed to circumvent the security within the class and had actually completed this set of knives before he was caught. It was obvious the young man had benefited from the class. Not only was his youthful frame showing the bodily benefits of such a physically demanding activity, but the talon-like knives were well crafted, designed with an obvious purpose in mind and it was that purpose that had prompted Peter Nachman to choose the mercenary guild as young Riddick's RECCooP partner. "…but in every situation you must make a choice," the judge continued, "There are times to act, and there are times to wait. This is one of the times to wait and be absolutely certain it is not only the right action, but the right time, for once you act the decision will be irrevocable. I tell you this and pray you will consider your future very seriously because Mr. Grycov's Mercenaries are not only your best hope, they are your last chance." With that he gave the Merc rep a curt nod and disappeared back into the courthouse.

Richard Riddick watched the judge go. The man had been absolutely right. He HAD been planning to ditch this merc the first chance he had, but there was something about what the judge had said. The fact that the man had come all the way down here to say it, that he had brought the shivs and gave them to HIM – taking a chance - a big chance - on HIM, that the man had actually spoke to him as if he counted for something. Maybe the guy was on the level. He bent to stuff his shivs in the duffle, away from curious eyes, then stood and pulled it up onto shoulders already impressively muscled courtesy of the metalworking classes. The merc rep was watching him warily, but Riddick planned on making no threats here or in the near future. He had made his decision. "Were you supposed ta be takin' me somewhere?" he asked.

Mr. Anderson grinned. He'd been sent because he'd been told this one might be trouble, but it looked like the judge had put something in the boy's head. "Yeah, come on," he motioned down the steps, "you ever pilot a ship?"

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Who could have predicted that less than 5 years later, at Sigma 3, an entire company of Grycov's mercenaries would be dead.

Four hundred eighty nine casualties.

One survivor…


	2. Chapter 2: Approx 8 Years Later

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick. Just check out the COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Be Still - Part 1  
**Chances

By Amita4ever

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Psalm 46:10

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**CHAPTER 2**

**Approx 8 Years Later**

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It was called an UnPhone – black market and very expensive – designed so that the transmissions could not possibly be traced back to their source of origin, and anything less would have guaranteed failure. Raspin Grycov knew if there was the barest hint of "trap" to the contact Riddick would flee the system and so had gone to a great deal of effort and expense to put the device into Riddick's hands. If Grycov had come in person Riddick would have gladly killed him, but since he hadn't the young fugitive was listening instead.

"My daughter is adventurous and likes to travel," the Mercenary leader explained.

"Been doin' a bit of that myself," Riddick commented without inflection, "though adventure hadn't much to do with it."

Grycov ignored him. "She has a tendency to plan her itinerary on the fly, but she usually contacts me first to clear it."

"Don't have a real itinerary myself," Riddick interrupted again, then his gaze narrowed on Grycov intently, "…**yet**."

The corners of Riddick's mouth twitched as he saw Grycov pull back slightly, but the young convict had to give the man credit. Grycov kept his composure as he continued to speak, "I don't like to spoil her fun so instead, if I see danger on her route, I send her in another direction or call her home. She didn't check in this time until she was already on-planet and she had to pick Trishary 4 for the stunt. It's an icy planet used primarily by winter sports enthusiasts and scientists. It is also under the 'protection' of Fredrick Steinen and somehow he's found out my daughter is there. He hasn't managed to get his hands on her yet, but it is only a matter of time. That's why I am offering you this…"

Riddick looked at the window in the corner of the screen as it flickered, then Grycov's bounty on his head was gone. One million reasons for making his life hell simply vanished, along with the lesser but still exorbitant amount Grycov had been willing to pay for Riddick's dead body. "Its only temporary," Grycov reminded him, "unless you get my daughter back alive and unharmed. You get her back, however, and the rest will disappear as well." The ones that remained were minor by comparison, but Grycov was offering to get rid of everything! Riddick hated Grycov with a fury that wouldn't die. He had told himself he would never work for a merc guild again, and certainly not THAT merc's guild… but the thought of starting over – no bounties – and this man had the pull to do it.

"Why me?" Riddick growled distrustfully.

"Steinen is my strongest competitor and my sworn enemy," Grycov answered seriously, "We keep tabs on each other and my best operatives in the Trishary system are known. I need someone who's not connected to my organization. You and I are not on friendly terms, but I still have your files. We trained you well, and the fact you're free proves it. I read about your prison break. The penitentiary investigators are still trying to figure out all the details. Some are saying it had to be an inside job, but I know better. You're not a joiner, especially not with authority figures."

"Kinda difficult," Riddick commented coldly, "You never know who you can trust these days." It was a slap in Grycov's face. Riddick had worked for the merc owner, had trusted the merc owner, but when a situation went bad the man had left Riddick holding the bag, "I told you what was goin' down on Sigma 3. I told you to do something or I would."

"And I told you to wait. Its not **why** you did it that got you in trouble, Riddick," Grycov reminded him, "It's the **way** you did it. Now I'm paying survivor's benefits instead of prosecution fees."

"And 300 plus families with moms and kids on Carawa Colony are alive, but those tact plans got purged quick, right along with all the other intel I pulled together for you," Riddick snarled, "Ain't no one there ever gonna call me hero. I don't even get to be called whistle blower, just murderer."

"Why should the whole guild pay for the sins of a few renegades?" Grycov said grimly, "Grycov Mercs have a good reputation. You saw that the guilty got punished, but you did it the wrong way and I took advantage of it. It's all business. You're not innocent, Riddick, you killed almost 500 men on Sigma 3. You deserved what you got, but that's the past - we're talking future. Point is you proved you know how to use your skills. You can make things happen your way, unexpected ways if necessary. That can get my girl out, and the fact were talking means you're close enough to the Trishary star system to do it. That's why you."

"There will be an extraction fee," Riddick finally stated, "open up a cred account, and give me access. I'll use it for expenses and when the job is done I get the balance in cash."

Grycov's eyes narrowed angrily, "How much?"

Riddick typed a number into the keypad for Grycov to see, "If I'm worth that much dead," Riddick smiled coldly, "I figure your girl is worth at least that much alive."

"I'm already offering you something worth a great deal more than cash." Grycov growled.

"Yeah," Riddick's smile faded, "but you only taught me one way to live and I won't be a merc again. That means learning new stuff, going it alone somehow, and settin' somethin' up - somethin' legal. May even need to change my name. That stuff don't come cheap. Neither does living' till it flies. If I got no cash I end up doing things just to survive and that gets me in trouble," he looked at Grycov with a curious desire burning in his eyes, "If I'm getting a chance to start over, I want to do it right!" Grycov saw something in the face of the convict he never expected to see… hope, and despite the fact the young man was now his enemy, Grycov found himself moved.

"Agreed, but until you get back with my daughter, you won't get a single credit out of the account that I don't personally authorize. When she's home safe, the remainder is yours." Grycov paused, then met Riddick's eyes, "Make no mistake, Riddick, you had better succeed. If you try to skip out with a single credit, if I even think you plan to leave my daughter in the hands of that monster, you will wish you had never been born."

"Too late for that," Riddick stated flatly as he met the mercenary's stare, "but for what you're offerin', Grycov," he promised grimly, "I'll get your girl out, or die tryin'. You just make sure you keep your end of the deal, or YOU'LL wish I'd never been born!"

"Too late for that," Grycov smiled sourly, then his smiled faded and he was all business, "You're going to need a ship…"

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**OPTIONAL READING:  
****(If you care to explore the writer's demented motivations, otherwise skip to the next chapter :o)**

This was actually my first posting on FanFic beyond the obligatory K rated one. I hadn't even found FanFic when I started writing it, but wanted to write it anyway. We had a new DVD player called a TV Guardian that was supposed to filter out offensive language and TCoR looked interesting so we used it to try out the new player. (Wouldn't you know it doesn't work on movies from Universal Studios, go figure), but the character of Riddick was so intriguing that I had to go back and watch Pitch Black too. A demon with a heart of gold? An angel with broken wings? He made me think of the chorus to a song by Bruce Carroll I'd heard years ago:

I am shadow, I am light  
I am wrong, I am right  
Sometimes shining oh so bright  
Sometimes fading into night  
Though you see the war in me  
You know all that I can be  
I am precious in your sight  
You walk with me through shadow and light

Riddick's definitely in shadow, but there are glimmers. Made me wonder what put him there. I researched Riddick's "history" to the best of my ability _(novelizations, official websites, & movie DVDs – the results of which are posted here on FanFic under the name __The History of Riddick: A Writer's Tool__ if you're interested)_ but let's face it, the particulars of Richard Riddick's past are piecemeal at best, and even seem contradictory on occasion. I tried to adapt my story to the history and details I found without shifting them **too** much. (If you've read something about Riddick being the sole survivor of a merc unit on the web - that is the main thing I shifted.)

There is also a premise to this story found in the brief exchange made in the movie Pitch Black between Johns and Riddick as they approached 'death row' canyon…

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**JOHNS**: Six of us left. If we could get through that canyon and lose just one, that'd be quite a feat, huh? A good thing, right?

**RIDDICK**: Not if I'm the one.

**JOHNS**: What if you're one of five?

**Riddick** stares. "I'm listening."

**JOHNS**: Look, it's hellified stuff -- but no different than those battlefield doctors when they have to decide who lives and who dies. It's called "triage," okay?

**RIDDICK**: Kept calling it "murder" when I did it.

**JOHNS**: Either way, figure it's something you can grab onto.

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Hmm. What might Riddick consider 'triage' that others would call murder? Sometimes a comment in a movie catches in my brain, but doesn't click the first time I hear it. This was one of them. It wasn't until I was writing one of the chapters for this story that I recalled this little conversation between Johns and Riddick and suddenly that comment had meaning. Amazing how a single line in a movie can take on a life of it's own and become the seed for a multitude of chapters.

Well, on with the tale...


	3. Chapter 3: MoleRat 111

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**CHAPTER 3**

**MoleRat-111**

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It looked like an ordinary vid-book until a small catch allowed the bottom half to fold down into a small keyboard. Even then it wasn't odd – not everyone wanted voice driven scribes. Secretaries used note/books on occasion, authors on the road, lecturers and the like. The most sophisticated models could tie into the planetary communication grid to transmit their files and messages. This was one of them. It was expensive, but still nothing out of the ordinary. A pair of well-groomed hands slipped a micro-memory vid-book card entitled "Dikatese: Intermediate Lessons in Language and Culture" into the slot on the top and glanced over the lesson that flashed on the screen.

It wasn't until the hands typed an answer to the first question in the lesson, an answer that appeared patently wrong, that things began to look unusual. The screen flashed as it cleared suddenly, then text began to race across the surface. The structure of the text was more suggestive of programming, but what it might be commanding the unit to do was indeterminate. Letters, symbols and numbers garbled together in no particular order forming lines and short paragraphs. The owner of the hands did not seem overly concerned by his book's malfunction.

The small transmission light on the side of the screen blinked repeatedly then went steady indicating a secure connection with the planetary communication grid. Finally the scrolling gibberish went still, ending with a blinking cursor. The well-groomed hands typed quickly as their owner glance furtively toward the door. Although the short typed phrase appeared upon the screen as a string of hyphens, with its completion the lines that followed were completely legible:

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Pass code accepted.

Identification confirmed: Molerat-111

Initiating encoding sequence protocol.

Secure Transmission to: Trishary4/... /Steinen1

Begin message.

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The well-groomed hands again typed quickly.

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» Set PACIS¤ for ship I.D. DVM-07734-6797536YWEHC/7031SC

» Pilot: Richard B Riddick

» Mission: Find/Extract Vanessa Grycov

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Those few words entered, a single manicured finger hit the SEND button launching the brief communication through the stars. Additional programming automatically acted to secure the note/book.

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End message.

End Secure Transmission.

Terminating encoding sequence protocol.

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(¤- Passive Atmospheric Craft Identification System)

The cursor blinked momentarily providing an opportunity for the pass code to be entered again, then with a second flash the Dikatese lesson reappeared... showing a score of 4 out of 5 questions answered correctly, the sixth awaiting the user's input. The well-groomed hands flipped the keyboard closed and pulled the Dikatese Language card out of the slot, exchanging it for the card "Masterworks Collection Vol VII: 20 Best Selling Espionage Thrillers". He was well known for his love of this genre. Mr. Grycov himself had given him this collection just last month. It was a pleasant perk, working for such a considerate stooge.


	4. Chapter 4: Hide & Seek

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 4**

**Hide & Seek**

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The ship punched through the ice laden atmosphere of Trishary 4 like a fine blade through thin skin. Grycov had proven the power of his connections. The ship he had provided was a sophisticated piece of equipment, armed, armored, atmosphere capable, heavy thrust engines - a cutting edge military prototype, but Riddick had mastered the controls in a matter of minutes – as Grycov said, they'd trained him well.

He'd never in his life dreamed he'd be working for Grycov again. Every day he'd spent surviving in slam Riddick had sworn and planned how he was going to make Grycov's life hell, and then how he was going to find Grycov himself and flay the man alive, one strip of flesh for every day Riddick had spent in slam before finally cutting something deep and watching the man bleed out slow, but since getting out he'd been a trifle too busy to actually take action on his plans. He was sure that was just how Grycov had wanted it. The 1-mil bounty had nothing to do with justice for the Sigma 3 Company and everything to do with keeping Riddick too busy to breath down Grycov's neck.

But here he was, working for the bastard again. Go figure. The irony was just a little too rich to stomach properly, but if he got Grycov's girl out... If Grycov followed through and cleared the bounties, all of them… Riddick was willing to call it even.

Free! The word sounded sweet even now. There would still be a warrant connected to his name, but without bounties no one would bother to come looking for him.

FREE! It was almost to good to be true, but he had to get the girl out first.

To that end he'd spent the days in space studying all the intel Grycov had provided from Steinen and his known cronies to the city blueprints and satellite images of terrain to the weather predictions and vid-calls from Grycov's daughter. Kinda important, those weather predictions. Trishary 4 was the ultimate get away for the winter sports addict, but it was not for amateurs – it had the optimum conditions and the ultimate storms, and it was the storms that pulled in the scientists.

Called Big Freezes, when these storms rolled in everything that wasn't essential turned off. The city was locked down under atmospheric shields, the gates were shut, and life hit pause. The electro-magnetic energies in these storms wiped out all communications, and wreaked havoc on systems that weren't shielded to the nth degree – which this ship was, refitted according to the specs Riddick had laid out. Because of this, Big Freezes were ideal for studying or testing EMP technologies, if they could be designed to stand the cold. In addition to the electro-magnetic energies, these monster storms actually pulled supercooled air from the planet's upper atmosphere into their winds dropping their temperatures to -200 degrees **before** wind-chill was factored in. Living tissue froze solid in minutes. If you missed lock down and were caught outside the city during a Big Freeze, you were dead. There were no rescue missions. That made a Big Freeze the ultimate cover for getting out, which just left locating the girl.

Studying her vid-calls, Riddick got the idea that Vanessa Grycov was the stereo-typical rich spoiled brat, with a generous streak of devil may care. Her daddy had insisted that Riddick would find her somewhere in the vicinity of the resident luxury condos, but Riddick knew better. If she were hanging there Steinen would have already found her, nor did her vid-calls support the theory. Vanessa made a point of calling from non-descript places, but Riddick knew the sounds and the signs. The girl was hanging out in his kind of turf; low town - thrill city to her rich blood, but if she didn't get herself killed or noticed he might just be able to pull this off with a minimum of expense and blood – not that the blood bothered him, but he didn't want traumatize the girl. He didn't intend to give Grycov any excuse to back out of the deal.

A green light flicked on as a faint chirp indicated the ship's entrance into the Trishary 4 PACIS grid. By regulation the **P**assive **A**tmospheric **C**raft **I**dentification **S**ystem, or PACIS for short, was tied in with the ship's navigation and communication system so it could not be hastily or easily removed, but Riddick didn't care if they saw him, just so long as they didn't know who he was. To that end he'd arranged a quick fix, at Grycov's expense, of course. He'd had arranged for the passive part of the ID transmission to be disabled and the signal substituted with the ID of a second-rate freighter. That way the blip on the PACIS tracking screen would display the freighter's code instead of the real one. That was touchy business and far from legal, nor did it completely guarantee success.

He couldn't actually replace the ID, it was too well integrated into the ship's systems to be altered in the time he had, but in order to detect the duplicity the Trishary 4 PACIS would have to be able to ping his craft with its actual ID code to activate a genuine confirmation. That possibility was not high on Riddick's list. He slipped into a common shipping lane, following its path toward the mountains, then put the first stage of his plan into effect.

Standard tracking would loose his ship and register a crash when his "second rate freighter" issued a Mayday and dropped within 2000 feet of ground still moving too fast to land safely. Riddick had chosen the location for his "crash" carefully. High in mountains perpetually wracked with storms, Riddick thought it unlikely Steinen would authorize a salvage mission considering the quality of freighter the PACIS should have registered. Even if he did, a search in this weather and topography would require weeks even with the most sophisticated technology, and that was just how Riddick wanted it. He came in fast, simulating the crash, and nearly cut it too close. He heard the fuselage brush snow before the ship pulled out of the dive and grinned. There was no way any freighter would have survived that drop.

He continued to fly low, below standard tracking, hugging the jagged contours of the ground as he made his way cross-country to the city. Flying eye blind, instruments only, so close to this kind of terrain would be enough to give most pilots a nervous breakdown, but Riddick relished the challenge. He neared the city at 3 am, the dead of night, with no lights and engines quiet. The deep canyon he followed allowed him to approach without even showing his nose above ground, but it was tight. On some occasions clearance was a matter of feet. He had the computer carefully track his final approach from the last wide spot so that it could be reversed exactly, then, after he set down, he deployed the camouflage. After that it was a matter of setting up the auto defenses and plotting a back route to Grycov's base into the autopilot so the ship could be sent home with the touch of a button just in case he couldn't fly it himself. And then lastly, there was just waiting. As soon as the temperature permitted, Riddick made his way up the canyon to a trail on the cliff face and slipped into the city.


	5. Chapter 5: Vanessa Grycov

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 5**

**Vanessa Grycov**

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Three days after landing, Riddick eased down the hall of a cheap apartment building, glad to be finally blowing this iceball with Vanessa Grycov in tow. Knowing her tastes, and following the tell tale clues in her vids it hadn't taken him long to locate her, but a gut feeling kept him away from her until the rest of his preparations had been completed and it was time to go. It wasn't the way he had initially planned to do things, and until last night there had been nothing to warn him off except that feeling, but he hadn't lived as long as he had by ignoring it. Riddick glanced up and down the hall, then pressed a small mirror into the door frame. It's small convex surface reflected a view of the hall all the way to the lift. Satisfied, he set his fingers to tapping in the code a man named Steven had taught him.

When Riddick had arrived in Erratist City he had been pleasantly surprised to find TrueGuard Security Services had been involved in refitting a good portion of the city with security upgrades, and that gave him a distinct advantage. It was knowledge that had gotten Steven killed, and if the SureTrust Security Corporation was aware that he had passed it on, Riddick might have another bounty on his head every bit as big as Grycov's, but they weren't aware, and Riddick was in no hurry to inform them. In truth, it was a sad little tale of death and betrayal, but oddly enough Riddick hadn't been the one doing either.

Steven had been a decent guy. Wholly naive, but a decent guy. Throwing him in the Tangiers Penal Colony had been like throwing a newborn babe in among starving wolves, but then that had been the whole idea. Steven had worked for the SureTrust Security Corp, and there wasn't a bigger security company in the galaxy. They offered security systems for every conceivable situation, from cheap apartment buildings like this one to the integrated systems used in penitentiaries and banks, and Steven had written the programming for a good number of them. When the programmer had learned that SureTrust made a habit of "using and losing" programmers – that was using them for a good number of years, then cutting them loose just short of their earning retirement benefits - Steven thought he had devised himself a safety net. Into every lock system he worked on he programmed a secret bypass code that would circumvent the alarm system and open the lock without even creating a log entry of the use.

Steven had hoped he could "sell" the codes back to the corporation for the value of his pension, or at the very least use them to "do a few jobs" and collect what he was owed from their clients. Instead, when the SureTrust found out, they had him quietly arrested. Steven had said it was just insurance to make sure he got what he was owed; they said it was… well it didn't matter what they said it was. They could call it 5 minutes late to lunch, and with the right people in their pocket, and the proper palms greased the sentence could still come up life with no parole, and that was exactly what had happened.

Then the powers that be arranged for their white collar programmer to be sent to a maximum security slam where the likes of Riddick were put. SureTrust had decided that rather than deal with the "flaw" in the systems, they would just cover it up and deal with the source. There was no question they intended for Steven to die.

Riddick still wasn't sure why he had originally stepped in to help the geeky programmer, except that there had been something profoundly child-like and innocent about the man in spite of being twice Riddick's age. He reminded Riddick of something the young convict had lost so long ago he had forgotten what it was, but it had been something precious and he didn't want to see it lost again. So he took the programmer under his protection, and it wasn't long after that Steven took Riddick into his confidence. It was just the information Riddick needed to simplify and make good a careful plan for SureTrust, in their bureaucratic wisdom, had arranged to send Steven to a penitentiary recently refitted by TrueGuard Security Services, a SureTrust subsidiary proudly installing the latest in their parent company's line of systems.

Unfortunately, when Steven didn't die, SureTrust had to take things a step further. Before Riddick and Steven could carry out their plan, there was a prison riot and an inmate known for doing inside jobs for outside sources conveniently, accidentally, killed the programmer. Riddick couldn't claim to feel any true sorrow for Steven; they had been so different that they were almost different species, but he didn't let that stop him from returning the favor. Before he "cut fence" alone Riddick conveniently, accidentally, killed the assassin, and so it was that Steven's legacy lived on in the most unlikely vessel.

The lock chirped pleasantly, then clicked as the mechanism released. Riddick swung the door open slowly, then, as he heard sounds coming from the bedroom, became bolder. Slipping in, he quietly closed the door behind him and surveyed his surroundings. It was a typical low town apartment, cleaner than most, worse than some. It showed every evidence of having been lived in for the past few weeks; and the trail of clothes leading to the bedroom was good indication of the tenants' current occupation. Although he doubted her daddy would be too thrilled, Riddick could care less what they were doing, so long as it didn't delay their departure.

He reconnoitered the main room on stealthy feet verifying that additional security hadn't been brought in. How could she have such a prominent father and be so ignorant of her own safety, Riddick wondered, but at this point in time, he wasn't complaining. It only made his job easier. Satisfied they were alone in every sense of the word he strode into the bedroom. "Vanessa," he barked as he entered, "Get your clothes on. It's time to go." There was a frantic stirring of the covers on the bed, then two heads emerged with startled suddenness from the depths, one a boy with short sandy hair, the other a girl with long black locks. Riddick knew without checking that the girl was the one he'd been sent for. While the long black hair was distinctive, she looked very much like her father.

"Who are you?!" she demanded holding the covers tight against her, "What are you doing here?!"

Riddick could see no sign in either room that Vanessa had made any preparations for a hasty exit. "Name's Riddick," he answered as he strode across the floor and began going through drawers. Silk panties, guy's underwear, bras, t-shirts… they were shacking together. "The term 'extraction' mean anything to you?" He stepped over to the closet and found heavier pants and fancy sweaters. He pulled out the warmest ones he saw with little concern for their harmonization and tossed them at the girl as he went back to the door, "Yer father's payin' me big ta get you home in one piece, and I'm doin' just that. Get dressed. If you got something warmer than those, put it on. It'll be cold where we're going. You got five minutes." Neither kid moved until Riddick paused at the door and turned around. "End of five minutes," he intoned ominously as he looked directly at the boy, "I come back in here and start breakin' things." The boy blanched, then began scrambling out of bed.

Riddick cracked the door behind him listening as the girl protested, but the boy wasn't taking any chances. While they dressed he picked up the girl's purse and looked it over briefly. There was nothing high tech about this fashion accessory and it gave him easy access to its contents – cred-stick, IDs and pass cards, girl things in abundance, all in easy reach of any sneak thief or pick pocket who had cared to try their luck… strike one. He pulled out a silver rectangle. It was a state of the art vid-phone with a good number of expensive features and he pushed the large "activate" oval out of curiosity. Would she be so stupid? In answer the rectangle flipped open and the vid screen lit up, "Hey Vanessa! What'da ya need, girl friend?" asked the prerecorded image of a popular pop singer. Yeah, she would, Riddick thought grimly, strike two – no fingerprint required for activation.

"What's the number to call this phone?" he asked, and after a moment a string of digits appeared across the bottom of the screen as the pop singer rattled them off and Riddick memorized them instantly. Strike three – voice recognition security hadn't been enabled either. Made things handy for him should they get separated, he could call her on her own vid-phone, but it was stupid not to use even the most basic security that the thing came programmed with. "Call Daddy," he continued to explore her foolishness. The pop singer froze for a moment, then asked if he wished to talk live or place a recorded message for later transmission. "Recorded message, immediate transmission," Riddick commanded.

"Record your message at the tone, girl friend," the pop singer chimed pleasantly, and a second later the vid-phone beeped.

"Yeah, Grycov," Riddick smiled coldly into the vid screen, "I've made contact with yer girl and she's fine so far. Brainless, but fine. Hope none of the information on this vid-phone is confidential, cause she don't even have it voice-locked. You might consider educating her on the basics of personal security before you have to hire me full-time to keep her out of trouble." He ended the message and watched as it was up linked and transmitted.

Pulling her heavy coat out of the closet he shoved it in the bag with his, then stepped into the kitchenette and helped himself to a beverage. At three minutes and 32 seconds the boy rushed out appearing anxious and confused. He was panting and stared at Riddick with frightened eyes. Riddick was amused. When Vanessa sauntered out, she was seconds shy of the deadline and the look in her eye was one of calculated rebellion. That didn't bother Riddick, but what she was attired in did. Not only was she not wearing what he had tossed at her, and her outfit could only be described as "cool" both figuratively and literally. The shirt was a short black tank top that bared her midriff, and over it she wore a black mesh that hung to her hips and shimmered. Her pants looked to be Levi retros, tight, black and thin. The only thing practical she had chosen were the black combat style boots.

"I've heard my dad talk about you," she announced as Riddick eyed her outfit, "When he says your name he usually attaches some very choice obscenities to it. He doesn't like you at all." She sounded impressed.

"Feeling's mutual," Riddick answered contemptuously, "I said dress warm."

"So why should I believe he sent **you**?" she ignored his comment.

"First smart move all day," Riddick answered, "Yer dad says he calls you Sassy cause of yer big mouth."

Vanessa flushed angrily, "A lot of people know he calls me Sassy," she retorted, "You'll have to do better than that."

"OK," Riddick smiled, then glanced at the boy, "You'll like this one. She was havin' this sleep over party with a bunch of girl friends on her 13th birthday," Vanessa paled, "They played this game called 'Truth or Dare.' She took dare and…"

"OK, OK," Vanessa interrupted frantically, "I believe you."

"But I ain't even mentioned the swimming pool yet," Riddick grinned enjoying her discomfort.

"That's OK," she said hastily, "I know my father sent you."

"Then back to the clothes," the grin vanished.

"You have absolutely no fashion sense," she snapped.

"And you got no common sense. When the man sent to pull you out of a tight spot tells you dress warm, you do it," he answered firmly, "What we're doin', fashion don't matter."

"I'm not changing," she stated stubbornly.

Riddick weighed his options and finally shrugged. So far as he knew frostbite had never killed anyone. "Fine by me. Even I can't fight stupidity," he intoned curtly, then stood and threw a shopping bag from one of the low-town department stores at her as he crossed over to the window. He reached out to the small unit on the wall beside it and toned it down from 60 percent opacity so he could see out, then stood to the side glancing out over the street, "Since your not ready to go, you got five minutes more to cram anything you want ta take with you in there, and pack light cause yer carryin' it."

She picked up the bag disdainfully, "And what tight spot is it suppose to be this time. Are you sure Daddy hasn't just gotten lonely again?"

Riddick glowered at her. "Didn't he tell you what's going on here? He said you'd be expecting me and that you'd know we were movin' fast."

"Oh, he told me," she sounded exasperated, "but then he's always got an excuse for making me come home early. That's why I didn't even call him till I got here. This is just the kind of place he'd try to keep me away from."

"Girl," Riddick answered with cold irritation, "I'm your father's worst nightmare. If he called me in, he's not lonely, he's flippin' frantic."

"Well, if someone's looking for me," Vanessa pursued skeptically, "then why haven't they found me yet? I haven't exactly been hiding out."

"You been running the low town with yer boy here," Riddick didn't move from beside the window, but leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, watching the flow of traffic, "hitting the cheap clubs that ain't linked into the system. Yer daddy's friend didn't think to look for you down here, rich little princess playin' dangerous, hanging with the low lifes. He expected you to be ritzin' with the upper crust, but it was only a matter of time before he figured it out or you stepped into the wrong joint and got your face in their scanners. The fact you haven't makes my job easier, but we still gotta get out of here… and that may not be easy," he added ominously, "But all that really don't need ta matter to you," he continued flatly as he turned to give her his full attention, "All you need ta know is that yer daddy's makin' it worth my while ta get you out of here, so you can come willing, or I can pack you out butt first on my shoulder, but either way yer coming."

"You wouldn't!" she started to explode, but the exclamation died somewhere in the middle as she met the cold impassive eyes of the young man standing across from her. Eyes as brown and bitter as dark chocolate with hair to match. He really meant it. She glanced across the room at the boy, then heaved a big sigh of resignation.

Accepting her surrender, Riddick picked up the bag he had packed while she was dressing - his coat, her coat, his shivs - and slung it on his back. Wearing these coats inside the city would look a little odd, and weapons always drew the wrong kind of attention, but they'd need them soon enough. The boy had just stood to the side taken aback by the sudden interruption, but Riddick wasn't going to leave him that way. The boy might really care for Vanessa, but more likely he was just enjoying the ride and wouldn't think twice about making a little cash on the side. Either way he was a liability. Riddick checked the clock. "Times up. Kiss yer prince good night," he ordered, and Vanessa was only too willing to comply.

Vanessa approached the boy with arms outstretched, "Good bye," she declared sorrowfully, "I don't know if I'll ever see you again," and as the two embraced she kissed him tenderly. The kiss rapidly escalated and Riddick let them smother themselves for a moment, then he upstaged her emotional exit as he caught the boy up from behind in a sleeper hold.

The boy began to fight, his eyes bulging and panicked as Vanessa gave a little yelp of surprise, then began pulling at the arm wrapped around the boy's neck. "Let go of him!" Vanessa shrieked, "Don't hurt him!" but they might as well have been wrestling with a marble statue. After several moments the boy's frantic struggles weakened, then he went slack and still in Riddick's arms. After a moment more Riddick dumped the limp youth unceremoniously on the couch and strode for the door.

Vanessa knelt worriedly beside the boy, "You didn't have to kill him," she looked ready to cry, but the tears never quite came.

"He's not dead," Riddick responded as he cracked the door and glanced down the hall, "but he won't be talkin' to anyone anytime soon."

"What do you mean?" she stood up and glared at him.

"You don't get this, do you?" Riddick returned her stare, "You know who Steinen is?" She nodded reluctantly. "He wants you bad," Riddick continued, "He figures if he gets his hands on you he can make yer Daddy nav by his charts. Steirnen didn't think to start looking for you in low town, but he's had time to reconsider. I saw a man with yer face on a vid-pad asking 'round last night, and he would've loved ta talk to boy toy here." Riddick didn't mention that this particular man also seemed to recognize him and wasn't going to be talking to anyone ever again, the apparent victim of an unfortunate low town mugging, but the man probably wasn't the only one out looking. "Steinen will get his intel any way he can, and if he can't pay for it, he's willin' ta kill for it. What's good fer us is good for yer boy. If he can't talk, he can't tell. He might just stay alive a little longer that way. Now get yer purse. We're leaving."

She didn't appear convinced, but for once she didn't argue. She picked up her purse and joined Riddick at the door stepping up behind him as if ready to follow. Riddick was scanning the hallway one last time before opening the door when Vanessa molded herself against him, "I guess it doesn't really matter anyway," she murmured near his ear as her arm wrapped around to appraise the muscles of his chest, "I figure I'm trading up as it is." Riddick didn't even bother to respond, but instead used one hand to push the door open as the other grabbed her wrist and used it to pull her with him into the hall. She sputtered in indignant protest, but he ignored it as he pulled the door shut behind them and compelled her down the corridor.

Four flights of stairs transformed her indignation into aggravation as she refused to understand why they couldn't take the lift, and by the time they reached the ground floor she had settled for sullen silence. That would have suited Riddick just fine as they stepped out of the building, unfortunately it didn't suit his purpose. Despite the hour, there was a lull in the traffic as they made their exit that didn't entirely please Riddick, but there was no time to wait. The lack of bodies did make it easier to spot faces, but likewise to track of targets. He scanned the lane looking for mugs he'd seen before, and saw none, but he knew that didn't mean anything. The two of them needed to be as ordinary as possible. As they stepped onto the walkway he put a protective hand around Vanessa's waist. When she looked at him, startled, he smiled at her. "So," his rich base voice tickled her ear, "Where you like to go shopping?"

Vanessa was surprised by his sudden interest and beamed hopefully. All too willing to share her expertise she launched into an extensive list of her favorite stores and their specialties as he continued to smile and surreptitiously watch the street. They traveled a few blocks, then after satisfying himself that they were not the object of anyone's attention, he pulled her into the shadows of an alley. His smile died and he turned, telling her to keep her voice down. "What gives?" she complained as he dragged her deeper into the filthy darkened passage, "One minute I think you're actually starting to like me, the next your dragging me through the sewer and I'm certain you didn't hear a word I said."

"It's all business, girl," Riddick replied without stopping, enjoying the subtle irony of throwing the father's words in the daughter's face, "happy couples draw less attention than angry ones."

"You mean…" she pouted.

"It's all business," Riddick repeated.

"Yeah? Well, we'll see about that," she muttered under her breath, but had no time to argue further as she tripped over a prostrate body. She was clearly startled, but when the body moaned and groped for her she gave a little squeal.

"Keep quiet," Riddick hissed as he pulled her to her feet and kicked the drunk away, "There's people here you don't want ta meet."

Riddick knew who was lying there. He didn't know the man by name, but he knew this drunk wasn't a threat. All the normal inhabitants of the route he was taking should be either absent or insensible by this time, as Riddick had traveled the passage in advance to scout out the terrain and witnesses. There were three old veterans that should be escaping the aches of the coming Big Freeze in local hotels after accepting the offer of a young stranger claiming to appreciate their sacrifice for freedom. The rest should be snoring in drunken stupors, having received a "kindly" handout of cheap liquor.

Two other routes had been prepared likewise, but this was the least obvious, for good reason. Riddick guided Vanessa through a maze of back alleys until he came to a dead end with a strong steel door surrounded by a metal reinforced wall. The warning on the door marked it as an "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" service access to the elaborate climate control and shielding system, but the warning seemed redundant when compared to the heavily reinforced key coded locking system on the door. Vanessa stood back, presuming they had made a wrong turn, and was astounded when her escort lifted a camouflaged panel and, pressing three keys like a chord on a piano, simultaneously keyed in a sequence of a dozen digits then stepped back. There was a whirr and click, then a light grating sounded within the door followed by a soft clang as the bolt withdrawal was completed. A soft hiss of air escaped as the door swung open.

"How did you do that?" she asked astounded, "How did you open that lock without a key stick?"

The young man looked at her. "Ya gotta knew someone," he finally answered enigmatically then indicated for her to enter in. She did, hesitantly, and by the sudden drop in the temperature she knew they were near the outer wall. Almost immediately she tried to turn around and step out, but Riddick's muscled frame blocked the door and a moment later he had pushed it closed behind them. The grate and clang were much louder on this side as she watched three massive bolts slide home into reinforced boltholes in the wall.

Once they were safely locked in Riddick squatted down and began unpacking his bag. Looking Vanessa up and down as he worked, he shook his head, "Maybe someday you'll listen… if you don't get yerself killed first," he commented portentously, then from his bag he pulled her thick ArticPrime coat and threw it at her. "Here, yer gonna need this," he stated flatly.

She put it on, wondering what crazy plan this Riddick had for getting her off planet that required exploring back alleys, the interior of secure climate systems and wearing ArticPrime winterwear as she sealed her coat up. Pulling her long hair from the neck she shook it out, hoping to catch Riddick's attention, but he was busy with the next item in his bag; a harness, homemade by the looks of it, which he slipped over his shoulders and fastened in front. The harness fit like a backpack, but the contents these straps secured were much more interesting.

Held snuggly by fitted 'cups' at their tip and handle, twin blades wedged against a strip in the middle looking strangely like upside down wings of glinting silver. Although she had little experience with knives, Vanessa couldn't help but think the blades tucked in the sheaths of this curious harness exuded a deadly sense of grace. After the straps were fastened, Riddick stood and pulled on a loose sub-thermal coat. Despite the high tech fabric, it was quite a bit lighter than her ArticPrime, and she wondered why until he reached behind his back to draw both blades in a single fluid motion. Any bulkier and the coat would hamper movement. The deadly grace of the knives was only amplified as they flashed in his hands.

Rising up from a short leather wrapped handle, the hilt, crenellated with notches, arced sharply like the talon of an eagle as it tapered into a long blade that lay parallel to his forearm, the long outside edge of the thing razor sharp. Riddick saw her watching. "Came up with this design when I was 15," he stated with grim satisfaction, "They were trying to teach some of us metalworking at Corisone Colony." He said the name of the maximum security penal colony for juveniles so casually that she almost didn't catch it, but when she did she was suddenly reminded of just who this Riddick was, and what her father had said he'd done.

For a moment she felt a certain unease to be traveling in his company, and then she felt a greater thrill. She had had bad boys before, but you couldn't get much badder than Richard B Riddick. Vanessa smiled as she watched him put the blades back in their sheaths one at a time. No matter how fast their ship was, there would be at least a few weeks in deep space, and if she had her way, not all of it would be spent in cryo-sleep. She watched as Riddick verified the location of two more blades she had not previously noticed, these more traditional, one clipped in his belt, the other tucked in his boot, then he finally threw his empty bag into the shadows and lead the way down the service corridors till they reached yet another door.


	6. Chapter 6: Falling for Vanessa

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 6**

**Falling for Vanessa**

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It was a bitter wind that tugged at Riddick's coat as he held the service door open for his charge. For this planet it was almost temperate at the moment, but after the climate-controlled atmosphere of the city he knew Vanessa would find it unpleasant. He had told her to dress warm, but she didn't want to listen, and it was only going to get worse – already he could see the roiling white winds of the Big Freeze on the horizon. If his timing was off, they were both going to die, because this schedule didn't have room for plan B.

The reinforced maintenance walkway beside the wall wasn't very wide, perhaps four feet, while the width of the windswept natural surface opposite the wall was variable, anywhere between a foot or four, then it dropped – a vertical cliff of considerable height, but it was still the safest way to get out of the city unseen. Vanessa took one step out of the service door, then pulled back quickly. "You want me to walk out there!?! Why can't we just go out the gate like normal people? Why can't we just get a ship at the 'port."

"Because they're looking for you and they know what you look like," Riddick repeated with more patience than he felt. _Why didn't I just bring some tranks?_ he thought to himself. He'd been led to believe the girl WANTED to get out, that she would cooperate. Lesson learned; next time consider ALL contingencies – even the remote ones. He wouldn't make that mistake again. What he did want was to crack the girl's head against the stone and carry her the rest of the way, but it was important that he pulled this off clean. He didn't want to give Grycov any reason to renege on his deal. This was worth working for.

"I could cut my hair," she suggested.

"They have feature recognition on their security system, wouldn't make a difference." he informed her as he scanned the surrounding landscape. At the bottom of the cliff he saw something moving through the rocks. At first glance it appeared to be a small bear of some sort, but as he studied it a little closer he realized the thing had to be human. Whoever it was wore an animal headed coat that looked to be real fur – definitely not standard issue for Steinen's crew. The 'creature' stopped often looking under the rocks and his guess was a scrounger checking traps or looking for debris from the city. After a moment's consideration Riddick dismissed the 'bear' as inconsequential – it was not an immediate threat. If it became one later he'd deal with it, but for now knowing it was there was enough. He wondered briefly if the scrounger had checked the weather forecast because there didn't look to be any shelter nearby. If they hadn't, they'd made a fatal mistake.

"I could put on a mask…" Vanessa stalled.

"Get out here," Riddck growled, and grabbed her arm firmly pulling her out the door. She shrieked and Riddick caught her close putting his hand over her mouth, "We are trying to **sneak** out of here, remember?"

He hoped he might see fear in her eyes, but she obviously didn't feel threatened by him. Instead she snuggled up and he felt an arm snake under his coat and around his waist as she looked at him invitingly. Riddick rolled his eyes, then pulled her loose and shoved her toward the fortification. She caught the metal safety bar embedded in the stone and held on with one hand. "Stay against the wall," he ordered, and closed the service door, hearing the whirr and click of the lock as it reset.

"Now listen!" he moved in to be heard without raising his voice, and if she felt the least bit intimidated all the better, "We need to move quick and we won't stop to rest; the storm coming in is a killer. At the end of the walkway there is a trail that goes down the cliff. You can't miss it. It's not an easy one, but its solid and you should be able to handle it, even at a scramble if need be. At the bottom of the trail I've marked the path, you'll see it. Leads to a ship hidden under camo. If anything happens, you head for it. Don't wait for me. There's a palm pad to the right of the door keyed to your LEFT hand." He lifted her left hand and held it in front of her face, then dropped it, "Get in and command it to 'lock down.' It'll voice activate. Pad's keyed to me too, so I can get in if I catch up. If you don't know where I am, then buckle in and wait till the snows flying. Hit the red button on the dash and the ship'll take you home to Daddy. Do you understand?"

She was silent a moment and it seemed she was finally listening, "What about you?"

"If the snow's flying it'll be too late for me to get to the ship. I'm either dead or I'm finding another way back."

She pouted, "Don't do that; the trip would be boring without you."

Maybe she wasn't listening as well as he thought. He took her shoulders and shook her slightly, "This is important. If there's a fight and you see me go down, if you're being chased, you don't wait. You get to the ship, buckle in and hit that red button, do you hear me!"

For the first time there seemed to be some small hint of alarm in her eyes, "Y-y-yes, the red button."

It would have to do, because he didn't have time to go over it again. The hair on the nape of his neck had been up since they left her apartment, and he had a feeling they needed to be moving NOW! "Good, move out!" he ordered and turned her forcibly in the direction they needed to go.

He pushed her to move quickly, and they were almost to the trailhead when they came across a steaming mass of dark sludge that leaked slowly down the wall and across the walkway. It formed a gloppy layer over the pavement at least 6 feet long, but Riddick knew the gunk was there long before they approached it. The material on the walkway was thick and soggy, but it seemed to thin out quickly after it started oozing over a broad section of natural stone, and Riddick took that as a warning. The constant freezing and thawing on this planet left certain of the rocks unstable, riddled with cracks. Vanessa, on the other hand, stopped short and stared at the sludge itself. "What is that?" she asked appalled.

"Sewage," Riddick answered frankly, and knew he had made a mistake as soon as the word was out of his mouth.

"Sewage?" she nearly shouted, "Sewage? And how do you expect me to get across?"

Riddick couldn't believe it. They were running for her life and she was worried about getting crap on her shoes? He started to answer, thinking it was time to just pick her up and carry her, when he heard the sound he had been expecting – voices. Up ahead, he saw half a dozen men in uniforms round the corner just past the trailhead. Behind him he heard more in the distance, and knew they were coming out the service door. The men ahead clipped onto the safety bar, then advanced to place themselves between Riddick and the trailhead before taking up position and Riddick knew what was coming.

Turning around he paused to look at Vanessa. She appeared confused, and finally a little frightened. A pampered princess all her life, maybe she was just starting to comprehend the danger was real. "You remember what I said?" Riddick asked in a low voice. She nodded, and he smiled as he anticipated what was coming. "Good. Stay close to the wall," he commanded, "and when I say run you make for the ship."

The last man out of the service door was Captain Cuddian, and Riddick wasn't surprised. Cuddian was Steinen's right hand stoolie, and it clarified things. This definitely wasn't a random patrol. Riddick hadn't been able to shake the feeling he was being watched since he arrived, and as he reevaluated every aspect of his stay he knew he had done nothing to give himself away. That meant Steinen had been tipped off and had just been waiting for Riddick to come in and pick up the girl for him.

Riddick checked his anger. He'd been used! He knew it wasn't the father, but source was in that direction - something to deal with when he was done here. But first he had to finish this job. "Captain Cuddian," he called agreeably as he leaned against the wall and began cleaning his nails with a knife that had appeared as if by magic, "What a surprise. If we'd known you was comin' we would'a made cookies." Although Riddick's words mentioned surprise, there was nothing in his manner to indicate that this little party was anything other than a routine inconvenience.

Cuddian recognized the ploy, but he had seen the write up on this young man and he could see that even with the advantage of numbers, it was possible the girl's youthful body guard could do some damage before he went down. Of greater concern than that was the fact that the girl was not clipped in and there was a risk she could get knocked over the edge in the melee, but there were easier ways. "Mr. Riddick," Cuddian called over the heads of his men, confirming Riddick's suspicion that he had indeed been set up, "I can see you're a man of action, but maybe you'd rather be a man of means."

"You might be right about that," Riddick tipped his head toward the captain, "What'd you have in mind?"

Cuddian grinned as his men relaxed marginally. They knew how badly Steinen wanted this girl, and it was not likely this Riddick could name a price Steinen wouldn't meet. The relief on some of the men's faces revealed their reluctance to be fighting in such elevated quarters, even with safety lines.

"What ever Raspin Grycov is paying you, Steinen will double it," Cuddian set out the standard counter offer.

"I don't know, that daddy's paying quite a bit to get his little girl back," Riddick countered.

"Name it," Cuddian shouted, and when Riddick threw out the number, Cuddian answered, "Done!"

"And the ship her father gave me?" Riddick drew it out watching Cuddian's men.

"Steinen's, along with the girl," Cuddian responded.

"No go," Riddick returned, "It's loss ain't no more cash out'a Steinen's pocket, and canceling this contract is going to cost me plenty. I'm gonna need a fast boat."

Cuddian considered, then nodded "Your's," and was delighted to see Riddick nod and casually push himself from the wall.

"You're a easy man to pact with," Riddick answered with a grin, pleased with the results of his bargaining, "and on any other job we might have a deal, but not this time," and before any of Cuddian's men could react Riddick had launched his knife and himself in opposite directions. The knife flew true embedding itself to the hilt in the throat of Cuddian's lead man sending him convulsing across the walkway as Riddick vaulted the sludge flow.

Even as his feet touched ground on the other side, his trademark knives were in his hands and he stormed into the half dozen men barring the trailhead. Stunned and surprised, they had no chance as even their safety lines became a hindrance against the flashing blades. Riddick moved like a dancer weaving around the men slashing as he went, and when he reached the end he spun and returned the way he'd come uncontested.

Maneuvering around the body on the other side had successfully delayed Cuddian's squad just long enough. Riddick vaulted the sludge flow a second time his bass voice barking, "Run!" as he placed himself between Vanessa and the approaching men. These men were no longer off guard, but they had hindered themselves by coming at him tethered to the safety bar. His freedom of movement was his advantage and as he whipped around slicing a blade through their chest armor he glanced behind to see if the girl was moving. She **was** moving… toward the cliff! More concerned for her confounded shoes than safety she was stepping onto the "dry" ground to go around the sludge. Riddick turned, roaring, "STAY AGAINST THE WAL…" but it was too late. The ground beneath Vanessa's feet began to collapse and she pitched toward the edge.

In less than an instant Riddick had made his decision. Without Vanessa there was no chance of success, and if he let her die he would be worth more dead than alive. This had been an all or nothing mission from the beginning, and of the two of them, he had the better chance of finding a way to survive if there was one. In a single leap Riddick dropped a shiv and put himself on the same fragile footing as he made an impossible reach for the falling girl. He caught a handful of long black hair and shifted direction even as he felt the ground beneath him giving way. Vanessa screamed in terror and then in pain as her hair jerked taunt and Riddick heaved, swinging her back to solid ground using his own weight as the counterbalance. She flung back to the walkway straight into the arms of Cuddian's men. They had the good sense to grab her before she recoiled toward the edge again, and that was the last he saw of her as gravity pulled him over the edge.

In less than a moment he was plummeting fast, a great deal of empty space between himself and the bottom of the cliff, but there was a broad stone ledge jutting out from the cliff face. If he could just find a way to swing over to it, something to redirect his downward momentum… he saw a length of pipe embedded in the rocks below him long enough for one hand. He'd only have one chance. He twisted, reached and felt his palm smack against the cold metal. Closing his fingers around the ragged surface he twisted his body again shifting its direction. He roared in pain as his weight hit the end of his arm and he pulled hard on his single handhold redirecting his momentum into an arc that would catapult him across the distance to the ledge as the rough surface of the pipe ripped into his palm. His body was on automatic, the arc and trajectory plotted, planned, commencing and his brain raced ahead looking at the ledge, scouting out the landing and the quickest route up the face, back into the conflict.

Suddenly the rock around the pipe crumbled, disintegrating beneath the stress of his gymnastics, and his momentum immediately started downward again. He flailed the air trying to regain control of his decent, to see what was beneath him, to make a new plan. His last maneuver had changed the distance beneath him from certainly fatal to potentially survivable if there was a stable place to land his feet. Boulders, rubble, broken rocks, and, as chance would have it, one flat snow dusted slab directly below.

He twisted in midair like a cat putting his feet beneath him, and he landed square, but the slab was slanted, scattered with ice and loose debris. The surface beneath him shifted and his feet slipped out from beneath him so quickly that the landing ate little of his momentum. In a move born of the moment he threw his arm across his body scraping the point of his remaining shiv down the face of the stone creating resistance, hoping for a crack. The blade sparked against the rock gouging a long scar in the surface, then jolted hard, catching on a protrusion, and jounced off. The remaining force slammed Riddick's body against the slab and a soft crack resounded in the canyon as his head connected with the stone. The young man's grip on the knife went slack as his arm thudded against his chest, then slipped limply to the stone, the pipe and other debris falling around him causing no reaction.

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The Captain Cuddian made his way to the front of the squad and peered cautiously over the edge. The girl's protector fought like a demon. It had been sheer luck that sent Riddick off the cliff and saved what remained of Cuddian's squad, and the captain almost expected the young man to clamber up and finish the fight, but no. Cuddian was quite gratified to see the motionless form of the bodyguard sprawled among the rocks below, the bright blood fanning from his head standing out in stark contrast to the pale cold stones beneath him. On the horizon the flashing, billowing, ice laden winds of a Big Freeze were obliterating the landscape as they rushed in. Cuddian looked back at the girl who struggled between the two soldiers and motioned for her to be brought forward.

As the first biting cold forewind buffeted them he smiled, "Your bodyguard will not be able to save you, girl." He jerked her over to the edge and heard her gasp at the sight below. "Don't hope for the off chance he's still alive. A fall from this height would kill any man, and even if it didn't, that storm will. Outside the city, those white winds," he pointed to the roiling front fast approaching, "will freeze him solid in a matter of minutes." Over his voice a low wail began to grow until it became evident it was an alarm siren, and Cuddian looked quickly back at the city, "just like it will us if we don't get out of here. Come on." He gestured imperiously and the girl began to struggle violently screaming her protector's name as the Captain had her dragged back through the service door. He watched with satisfaction; Steinen would be ecstatic. Finally, as Cuddian's cheeks began to burn with the growing chill in the air, he too made for the door only to pause as something glittered on the walkway. A wickedly curved blade stained with new blood lay on the stone, and Cuddian had no doubt as to its former owner. Picking up the trophy he continued to the door without another thought for either the young man lying at the bottom of the cliff or even the fallen squad members who had failed him.


	7. Chapter 7: Hey, dude!

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 7**

**Hey, Dude**

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Riddick woke, his backside cold, front side warm and his head aching as memories of the fight kicked his body into overdrive. His thoughts felt sluggish and slippery. He couldn't quite catch hold of them as his body responded automatically to the last situation it remembered and threw off a fur blanket to scramble to its feet. A fraction of a moment later he sank back to one knee holding his head as vertigo, pain and his thoughts exploded simultaneously in his brain. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he became aware of a voice as he crouched trying to hold his skull together. Riddick opened his eyes carefully. There was little light, but that was not the reason he was having difficulty focusing on the shadowy bear like figure in front of him. "Don't get yer dogs in a twist," the figure said tensely. "You took quite a fall. In fact you really should be dead

The figure that crouched across from him was slight, and the voice seemed young but the sex was indeterminate. The edginess in the voice was also echoed in the posture as the figure looked ready to dodge or fight, one mittened hand already wrapped around a bone handled knife sheathed at its waist. It wasn't, however, a threat, it was defensive. In front of the "bear" lay a small flickering flame vainly trying to provide illumination and warmth. The only other light came from around them where a dark snow laden wind battered itself against an energy shield causing a faint, but near constant glittering glimmer as it protected the small space they inhabited from the raging storm. There was no landscape beyond the shield. Within inches all visibility was lost in darkness and the fury of the storm. The very air near the shield radiated with the sub-zero temperatures of the Big Freeze raging on the other side explaining, in part, why the figure persisted in looking fuzzy to his troubled sight. It was covered from head to toe in fur. "How long?" Riddick asked, wincing as each syllable echoed in his head like overhead thunder.

"You been out two hours, dude," the figure answered seriously without changing position, "I was beginning to wonder if you was brain-dead or something."

Two hours! Riddick looked at the writhing wind outside the shield. If she was out there… he struggled to lift himself up, "The girl…" he grated, "Did you see a girl?"

"No, man," the figure shook its furry head, "when I saw you, you was flying solo. Way cool maneuver though, tryin' for that ledge. I take it you didn't volunteer for that free fall?"

Riddick shook his head and immediately regretted it, "no," he gasped as a sharp pain pierced the back of his head and the little enclosure began to swim, "ambushed." He sank down, then slumped back against the cliff face, his head nodding forward. "The girl," he murmured as the enclosure grew dark, "Gotta find… the girl…"

The figure moved then, coming over the flame, knife forgotten, "Dude! Don't do this!" The figure caught Riddick's cheeks between cold leather pads and lifted his head up trying to force his attention, "You gotta stay awake! Dude, stay with me!" But try as he might, Riddick couldn't keep his eyes open and the darkness closed in.

It seemed only moments later when he heard the voice again. "Come on, dude, wake up! We're running out of time." He felt cold hands patting his face. Riddick opened his eyes slowly. He knew better than to make any sudden moves. He was still slumped against the stone but the fur blanket had been pulled up around his shoulders and tucked around his body to conserve as much warmth as possible. Fur mittens lay to the side as small human hands gently slapped his cheeks. It was ironic. Humans had been so sure, as they expanded past their own galaxy, that they would encounter alien life forms, but they never did. Every planet they encountered was empty and void of life. They didn't stay that way, however.

Terraforming, atmosphere seeding and other techniques allowed many planets to be made suitable for colonization. Even many places that were not suitable for long-term colonization were made useful. Crematoria was a prime example. It was merely a temporary mining facility until the powers-that-be decided that its uniquely inhospitable surface made it ideal for other uses. Although that was one alien world he hoped he'd never see, he had seen a number of others in his 20 plus years, as well as many of the wildly strange life forms created, accidentally or on purpose, to inhabit them. But they all had one thing in common; they could all trace their origins back to human hands. When man had legalized the genetic design and creation of new life forms he had opened the proverbial Pandora's Box. There were even some humans who had used genetic manipulation, illegally of course, to adapt themselves to their chosen home world. The results were more often than not disturbing, but the hands that touched him now appeared human.

"How long?" Riddick whispered.

The figure shifted back abruptly. "Another hour, man," it answered tightly, "You can't do that again. The power cell on this shield is almost dead and if we're down here when it goes we'll be frozen inside 15 minutes. We gotta get inside, man."

"Can't climb," Riddick admitted, "not even sure I kin walk."

"Can you crawl?" the furry figure asked bluntly, an edge on the voice that almost sounded like reluctance, "cause you landed on my front step."

Riddick turned ever so carefully, noticing for the first time that the cliff face he leaned on cut in to become a deep tunnel. It wouldn't matter if he could walk or not, the cave's ceiling was too low. "Yeah, I can crawl," he answered. He didn't know if he could or not, but he was determined to try.

"Then let's go," the figure responded, resigned and tense, "Keep yer left shoulder to the wall. If you stay on your knees and keep yer head down you'll do fine," then it pulled the fur blanket off Riddick's body.

The chill in the air was a slap to Riddick's senses and with extreme care he eased himself over on to his knees. His head rebelled, but he couldn't question the anxiousness in the figure's voice. Wherever they wanted him to go, they didn't want to take him there, but the danger was great enough to force it. He closed his eyes as his vision swam and his brained throbbed, overwhelming all sense of direction, but he still knew left from right so he put his left shoulder against the stone, kept his head down and forced himself to move. The figure followed behind, reduced to a voice that pushed and encouraged.

Every yard was an effort. The first time he would have rested and let himself sink into the warm darkness that hovered around his mind the voice refused him, "Stop here and we're both dead. Keep moving!" so he pushed further. Then, when the shield generator failed, the wind suddenly howled into the tunnel sending fingers of icy cold up to lick exposed skin with its burning chill, adding promise to the voice's threat. After a short distance the tunnel began to incline upward away from the bitter temperatures, but still the figure would not let him rest. His limbs weighed like lead requiring a massive and concentrated effort to move each in turn, his head throbbed and he was weary beyond belief, but still the voice drove him relentlessly yard by yard, then foot by foot. It took all he had to keep the darkness at bay and continue. Finally, just as he had begun to think that dying might be preferable to fighting to remain in this agony, he felt his head butt up against a pliable barrier. "We're here," the voice announced, "push through it."

The barrier gave easily to his pressure, but as its weight it slid over the back of his head he cried out and fell as if he'd been struck by a forging hammer. On the other side of the barrier the tunnel had opened up and he collapsed into it only vaguely aware that the voice was expressing concern rather than impatience, and that he was feeling warmth in the air. He let his forehead rest on the coolness of the stone floor as his skull tried to come apart at the seams. He clung to consciousness, the paranoia of his survival instincts clutching at awareness, needing to know where he was, who was there, if he was _safe_. Nor could he continue to lay there half in and half out of the tunnel, but he had no incentive to move. He was barely aware as the figure clambered over his legs and climbed to its feet discarding the furs it wore, then he felt more than saw the light that brightened the chamber.

When the figure crouched on the floor near him and began to shake his shoulder he knew he had to try and pay attention. His thoughts narrowed to processing the sounds reaching his ears and he heard the figure ask, "Come on, Dude, you still here?"

Riddick groaned softly to indicate his hard kept awareness. The figure heard him and continued, "You can stay on the floor or you can get up in the bed, but there ain't no way I can lift you by myself. If ya want in the bed, ya gotta get up to get there." _We're alone._ The floor had incredible appeal to his exploding head, but Riddick retained enough wit to realize that the cold that felt so good at the moment would not be good over the long term for the chill of the Big Freeze reached up the tunnel and through the stone even here.

Slowly, effortfully, he managed to force himself back to all fours, then reached up blindly seeking something to grab. The figure guided his hand to a finger hold in the rough hewn wall, then grasped his other arm. Together they managed to get him to his knees, and only when it became apparent that Riddick would get no further without more significant aid did they finally pull his arm over their shoulder and add their strength to his, heaving hard to help him to his feet. "Hold it together, dude, it's not far!" the figure exclaimed tersely from under his arm, steadying him as he swayed precariously. Even dazed as he was, Riddick realized the figure fit low under his shoulder.

His elevation gave the darkness strength and it pushed in promising to end the agony that thundered in his mind as colors and light exploded behind his tightly closed eyes. Even with one hand on the wall and the other over the figure's shoulders it required all his concentration to stay upright and put one foot in front of the other. He staggered a half dozen steps until his legs met a solid frame and the figure barely managed to keep him from falling face flat on the fur covered surface.

His last memory before the darkness swallowed him again was a voice exclaiming, "Oh, dude, that's a wicked wound on the back of your head. I'd better call the doc." _No!_ Riddick tried to answer; to refuse fearing word might make it back to Steinen, but the darkness closed in so quickly he had no idea if he succeeded or not.


	8. Chapter 8: Distant Dreams

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 8**

**Distant Dreams**

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Distant twinges. Voices. Pain. Riddick's mind clawed at the darkness surrounding him but it was as if his consciousness were mired in tar, as if his body was wrapped in insulation. The voices were far away as if he were eavesdropping down a long tunnel. "…wake up? Perhaps, but, no, he can't hurt us right now," a man's deep amused voiced echoed hollowly in the distance.

"You sure, Doc?" it seemed to be the voice of the furry figure, "'Cause this dude ain't no push over." The man chuckled. "You wouldn't suppose I was bein' funny if you saw him get up the first time." the figure responded seriously, "He came up like he was ready for bear, but his head took him down fast."

"You've been very patient waiting till now to ask such critical questions, but yes, I'm sure." The one called Doc answered reassuringly.

"Yeah, well, I didn't know if he was gonna stay live 'til now, but with you getting' things all fixed, I don't want to take no chances he's gonna wake up unexpected and do something before he has a chance to think about it," the figure's voice stated apprehensively.

"Be not afraid," there was a smile in Doc's voice as if the words were some private joke between the two, "I couldn't risk his moving while I was doing such delicate work so I gave him a Parathal injection, and when… _if_... he wakes up, I don't expect it to be sudden. How long was he unconscious?" he asked more seriously and Riddick fought the darkness that tried to close the tunnel and swallow his thoughts again.

"After he hit the rocks he was out 'bout 2 hours," the figure answered, "The rocks were cold and I think they stopped the bleedin' quicker, but ya told me it's not good to move someone who fell hard if ya can help it, least wise not till they wake up and ya see that everything works, and there weren't no way you could get to him before the Big Freeze settled in so I got a blanket and the shield and decided to wait 'im out. When he woke up, he woke up fast, darn near made it to his feet, but found out quick he was hurt bad. He asked a couple questions then passed out again. Didn't wake up fer 'nother hour. By then it was move or die and he managed to move. Got in here, I helped him ta the bed, then he went down fer the count. That's when I got a good look at his head and knew I'd better get you. Countin' the time you've spent workin' on him, it's goin' on almost six hours this time."

"What would you have done if he didn't wake up out there?" the doctor asked curiously.

"He's so heavy I don't know if I could'da moved him or not, but so long as he was breathing, I would'da tried." The figure answered simply, the voices were slowly growing more distant.

"You did good. I'm proud of you," the doctor commended, then added, "I'm also glad I could get away. You were right about the wound's severity, but the nano-restructuring appears to have been effective. Intracranial swelling has been reduced... we've got a good closure on the meninges... the cranial shards are fitted. I guess we've done what we can. Hand me that Calcigenic Fuser." A moment later a low thrumming pulsed its way through the thick layers that seemed to wrap Riddick's brain and set up a vibrating ache that caused him to moan as his entire skull throbbed. "Ah, good," the Doc murmured as the thrumming stopped immediately and when it resumed a moment later it was at a fraction of its previous level, but it was as if the throbbing had braced the tunnel and Riddick clung to the thread of pain like a rope anchoring him to this quasi consciousness. "I hate… head… wounds," he heard the doctor complain, frustration evident in his voice. The pace of the man's words had become somewhat slow and uneven as the physician divided his attention between talking and the task at hand, "They can be… so unpredictable… so… delicate... and the portable scanner… just doesn't give me… enough… information…. Without getting… him… to the hospital... or on a med-bed at the clinic... at least, I can't… be sure just… how critical… this injury is,… if there is more delicate damage,... but the fact that he's… still… reacting to pain… is promising. Maybe if… there is a break in the storm… I can… try to make… it back with an air-car… to get him …"

"I don't know," the figure murmured dubiously in the background.

"Just how… did you say he… got this again?" the doctor asked. The doctor's companion seemed to take the ill-measured speech in stride.

"I already told you once," the voice of the figure returned in mild annoyance, "He fell off the cliff and landed right outside my cave. You can go check the blood splat if you don't believe me."

"No, no, I just," the doctor soothed distractedly in intermittent pieces, "don't see how a fall of that distance could be survived. It doesn't seem possible."

"Aren't you always telling me all things are possible?" the figure teased.

"Through God… yes," the doctor answered haltingly, "and maybe you have the right of it. For any man to survive a fall like that would definitely take a miracle."

"Well, I have ta admit he didn't move like just any man," the figure added as if reluctant to give too much credit to the divine, "He fell half the way then caught a pipe and near swung himself to a ledge, but the rocks round the pipe broke out and he started fallin' all over. You should'a seen him all twisting in the air like a Targ cat ta get his feet under him, but by the crack I heard I knew he still landed wrong. Something left a major gouge in the rock; maybe that wicked knife I showed you, but I couldn't see that part from the trail below."

"Remarkable," the doctor muttered after awhile, then probed the wound sending dull lances of pain penetrating the thickness separating Riddick from his senses. "The bone is as fused as I can make it. Hand me the dermal regenerator." An old familiar tingling pain commenced as the doctor commented, "This portable unit is going to leave scars, but they should disappear over the next few months. Thank goodness it won't take his hair nearly that long to grow back; I'm leaving the poor boy all but bald back here. I wonder where he came from."

"Got me," the figure answered, "but I don't think that air-car idea is any good. I'm pretty sure I saw Captain Crud on top the cliff and the dude weren't free fallin' by choice. He kept talkin' 'bout a girl. Said he had ta find the girl."

"The girl," Riddick heard the doctor murmur distractedly, then the physician suddenly exclaimed, "The girl! Of course! Captain Cuddian brought a girl to Steinen this afternoon. I was summoned to take a DNA sequence. I think he means to ransom her or hold her hostage. She'd been crying but she kept saying Steinen would be sorry and he was a fool to think Riddick was dead. She kept saying this Riddick would be back for her."

"Lucky wench," the figure muttered bitterly, "if she's good for gold Steinen will mind his manners." There was a sigh, then the tone became hopeful, "So ya think her Riddick and Free-Fall here are the same cat?"

"Makes sense," the doctor assented as he finished his task, "Cuddian was boasting he had eliminated her bodyguard, but thanks to you he may not have been quite as successful as he thinks."

The figure continued hopefully, "So ya think this dude'll go after Steinen ta get her back?"

The sharp tingling ceased and a flash of cold hit bare skin as the wound area received a final wipe down. "I guess that will have be enough, my boy," he doctor murmured unhappily, "There's not much else I can do for you down here." then even that was gone and there was only a dull fading throb remaining. Metal scraped on stone as a chair moved nearby. "The man's not sitting in the warm yet, Daria. I've done what I can, but it was a long fall," the doctor cautioned gravely, "He may or _may not_ wake up. There may or may not be permanent damage. I'm up on the latest methods, and Steinen provides me with top of the line equipment - without both of those this man would be dead - but brains are touchy. There is a limit to what can be done in the case of severe head trauma, especially with portable med-machines." There was the sound of a steri-field shutting down, "Without my clinic equipment I have no way to determine the true severity of the injury... to see if there isn't more delicate damage done than this portable scanner can see, so I can't know if there is a better way to treat him. To complicate matters, if Steinen or the Captain find out he's alive, you're both dead."

"Who's going to tell them?" the voice of the figure called Daria was suddenly dangerously casual.

The doctor sighed, "After all we've been through is it still so hard to trust me? I would have hoped you'd know by now that I wouldn't even think such a thing. I don't owe Steinen any favors, in fact I hate the man."

"Not as much as I do," Daria interrupted quietly.

"Most the quadrant agrees we'd be better off if Steinen would find a new line of work..." the doctor agreed solemnly as the sounds of equipment being but away continued.

"Yeah," Daria muttered with quiet venom, "like feeding Cairn Bears."

"...but until then we have to survive as best we can," the doctor continued, "and that, unfortunately, means Mr. Riddick is pretty much on his own now. If I can't take him to the clinic, then the best thing I can do for both of you is to keep some distance." A few more clinks and clicks, then the sound of latches indicated the doctor was finished packing. "Need help cleaning up?" he asked, "No? Then, here, give me a hand and let's see if we can't make him a little more comfortable. We'll put him on his side so we don't put pressure on that wound quite yet. Grab the pillow. If he's not awake by morning you can roll him to his back, just try not to put any direct pressure on those scars for a while."

"Keep him warm," the doctor's voice continued, "If he wakes up keep him quiet and give him liquids until he's strong enough to sit up. No more strenuous exercise." Riddick heard as he was vaguely aware of hands upon him, stripping off his coat, boots, shiv harness, rolling him over, settling him in and his spirit rebelled. Helplessness went against his grain, but without the constant pain of the doctor's ministrations, the tunnel was slowly beginning to close in again. "Slip up my way later today," the doctor added as Riddick felt the weight of a fur blanket spread over him, "I'll leave some medicine and supplies behind the 'Shroom Room door that may help, and if I can get away in day or three I'll try to slip down and see how he's doing. You'll be safe enough until then," he said emphatically, "I promise, even if he wakes, he'll be no threat to you... but if he _hasn't_ woken up by then, we'll have to reevaluate the situation. For now, we've done all we can. The rest is up to the Lord."

Silence reigned, then Riddick heard Daria heave a big sigh. "OK, doc," she finally answered with resignation, then after a pause she continued, her voice softer, "I'm sorry. I know you'd never let Steinen hurt me again if you could help it."

"No, I wouldn't," the doctor answered resolutely, "but you do realize, don't you, that you are."

"Are what?" Daria came back defensively.

"Letting Steinen hurt you," the doctor responded evenly, "You need to forgive him."

"Not that again!" Daria exploded, "How can you say that? You don't know what he did to me!"

"Yes. I do," Doc interrupted firmly, "I'm the one who saved your life, remember? I'm the one who hid you away and told Steinen he'd killed you, remember? I may not know exactly what you went through, but I _do_ know what he did to you, and I know that holding on to that anger hurts no one but yourself. Do you think Steinen is suffering right now because of your anger? It doesn't hurt him one little bit."

"It will," Daria muttered, "Someday!"

"Yes, well, that is someday," the doctor sighed, "but I see Steinen hurting you today, and yesterday and tomorrow and he doesn't even have to know you exist to do it. He's still hurting you because you're letting him. In fact you're helping him."

"You don't know what you're asking!" Daria snapped, but the doctor replied as patiently as ever.

"Yes, I do. I know exactly what I'm asking. I told you I hate the man, and I do, for good reason, but I have also forgiven him. I know that sounds contradictory, but when and if the time comes that I have to make a decision regarding him, I know I will be able to make the right one. He no longer has power over me and I won't do anything I will regret later. Whatever happens, I know I'll be right with God."

Daria wasn't satisfied, "So what'd he ever do to you?" she asked skeptically.

There was a long silence then the doctor answered, his voice changed, "My wife also worked with the resistance. I'm not supposed to know; it was intended to look like an accident, but Sarah learned something she wasn't supposed to and Steinen had her killed. She was 7 months pregnant at the time. Our first child."

Daria gasped, "Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't…"

"No, no, it's alright, Daria," he comforted, a curious blend of pain and contentment in his voice, "I miss them, but they are with the Lord and I _will_ see them again someday, both of them. It's you I am worried about right now."

At that Daria broke down, "It's too hard, I can't do it," she cried quietly.

"No, you can't. Not alone," the doctor agreed, "but with Christ's help, anything is possible, remember? Pray, Daria, please pray." Riddick heard Daria sobbing quietly, the sound muffled as if buried and Riddick knew she was wrapped in the doctor's arms. Suddenly a beeping pierced the quiet, followed by a click and the doctor's muttered curse. "I'm sorry," he said emphatically, "They need me in the clinic – it's an emergency, Gloria wouldn't signal otherwise. I shouldn't have brought this up now; its just… I'm sorry, Daria, I really am. Please forgive me. Will you be O.K?" Daria murmured a broken affirmative, and the doctor was forced to accept it, "I'm so sorry. Call if you need me. I'll find someway to get back. I've got to go before someone starts looking for me."

"Go ahead," Daria affirmed more confidently, and the doctor's hurried footsteps faded across the room a moment later. Daria was silent for a long moment, then she drew a shuddering breath and slowly her weeping started again, "I can't," she cried softly, "I… I don't know how," then her voice was by the bed and Riddick distantly felt her hand's on his shoulder shaking him, "You've got to get better," she pleaded, "you've just got to. Your girl needs you… Doc needs you…" then she put her head upon his arm, "…I... I need you," the last was wrung out with a wretched desperate bitterness that seemed to take all her strength to admit, and with those words she collapsed to her knees beside the bed, her head pillowed in her arms on the mattress and pressed against his back. Great wracking sobs began and Riddick could only listen as she cried; cried for herself, cried for him, cried for the doctor's wife and child and she cried for the hate and fear that tormented her life. Her sobs shook the bed and her heaving presence against his back cut through the barrier to his senses as nothing else. Even as the tunnel collapsed he was aware of the heart wrenching weeping and shuddering sobs that penetrated to his core, following him into the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9: Daria

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 9**

**Daria**

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Riddick slowly opened his eyes. _Where am I?_ He lay on his back covered in a fur blanket. His memories troubled him. Pain he knew he should be feeling was reduced to dull aches, and for some reason instead of a rough stone ceiling above him he expected a glittering snow battered shield; instead of the soft warmth beneath him he expected cold hard stone. _Why?_ A whisper of alarm brushed his thoughts, and then he began to remember. He remembered the fight on the cliff top walkway. That came back with relative clarity, but the memories that followed were elusive and confused. He had a brief image of long black hair in his hand, of being relieved to see Vanessa in the arms of two Steinen guards, of stones rushing past... of falling… He had a hazy memory of a shadowed figure sitting in the dark, a fur blanket and a thin glittering shield separating them from the fury of the Big Freeze.

He closed his eyes again as he tried to put the pieces back together. The figure said the shield was going to fail, forced him to crawl through a tunnel; seemed like miles. His memory of reaching the end was vague at best, but behind the darkness of his eyelids he found another memory. Voices. Pain. One called Doc had been working on someone with a head wound, and though the sensations were strange, Riddick was pretty sure it'd been him. The one called Doc had named the voice of shadowy figure Daria. Both hated Steinen. But he could only remember voices, nothing visual. Had it been a dream? If so, it had been not been a good one. It ended with Daria crying like her heart was breaking, and it had troubled his. Kids crying. He didn't like to hear kids crying. Brought back memories. Enough pain in the universe as it was. He had wanted to tell her to stop, tell her things might get better, but the darkness wouldn't let him. Her body shaking sobs against his back were the last thing he remembered. Had it been a dream?

The air carried an assortment of scents. Among them the faint sharp char of old shorted circuits, of new cut wire, electricity, of stone, of cured leather and fur, and the scent of blood... _his_ blood. Over it all was the smell of a youth, womanhood just barely begun, which was almost familiar. He opened his eyes again, and became aware of the faint sounds of movement nearby. He eased his head to the side, feeling a twinge from the back of his skull, feeling his muscles protest weakly. He could see he was in a bed, in an apartment of sorts, and there was a young girl quietly working at a table a short distance away. Spread out in front of her on the table was an assortment of tools, wires and components. Her golden hair was tied back out of the way revealing a fair face, the tip of her pink tongue curled up over her lip in concentration as she hunched over a casing single mindedly removing yet another component with an antiquated handheld screwdriver. She looked to be a teenager, maybe younger.

Looking past her, on a rack on the wall, he saw his coat, his shiv harness – empty, and a bear headed fur suit that looked vaguely recognizable. Was this twip of a girl the one he'd seen scrounging at the bottom of the cliff before the fight? Had she saved him from the Big Freeze? He was reasonably sure he knew the answer and looked back to her only to be distracted by something else. Next to the girl was a cup and Riddick realized suddenly he was very thirsty. He would have liked to get up, but he could already tell that was more than he could do at the moment. On the other hand he suspected the girl had come to his rescue once before. "Girl," his voice croaked harshly as his dry throat tried to function, "Water," and she started at the sound like some thin legged prey animal. The chair she was sitting in flung backward as she sprang to her feet staring at him with the screw driver raised defensively, surprised to find his eyes open.

"Mr. Riddick!" her startled voice quivered, "You're alive! You're awake!" The words were taut enough to bounce a credit, but there was no mistaking. She'd been the one who saved him.

And there was more than just her speed of movement that created the illusion of a graceful prey beast about her. She had slender limbs on a lithe young body _just_ beginning to round in the right places, and she had a pretty face -- girlish, but pretty -- with bright liquid eyes. Someday she would be a knock out, but right now the fear in those wide eyes made them disproportionate to the features that housed them. He saw it in every muscle of her stance. She _wanted_ to be happy. She _wanted_ to be excited, but she was plainly terrified.

"Yeah," his mouth felt as if it were made out of dry leather, his throat grated like sandstone, but he wasn't going to get anything out of the girl if he scared her worse, and how annoyed could you be with someone who might actually be happy to see you alive, "but I'm gonna die of thirst if I don't get something to drink," he rasped. She cringed back at his ragged voice and he recognized that hollow eyed fear for what it was. "I ain't gonna hurt you, girl, I just want some water."

She looked startled, then chagrined, "Yeah, sorry." She looked at the screwdriver and set it down reluctantly as she edged off at an angle, "Gimme a sec. I got something better." He dreaded to consider what she might think was 'better,' but he was in no position to be picky. So long as it was wet he didn't care. She came back with a cup. "Doc Josh said you'd 'ppreciate this if you woke anytime soon." Riddick's hand trembled as he reached for the cup but found he hadn't the strength to still it. His arm shook so badly the drink nearly sloshed over the rim and he would have spilled it had the girl not quickly returned her hand to steady the cup as he held it. His attempt to lift his lips to the cup was equally perilous, and when she recognized the totality of his weakness she finally knelt and helped support his head also. The liquid was cold and artificially flavored, but Riddick recognized it as a medical grade hydration solution with nutritional enhancement. It was everything his body needed at the moment, and he drained the cup.

""Ya got more of that?" he whispered as he let his head sink back.

"Sure," the girl answered and quickly moved to comply.

His neck ached with his effort, and he reached up weakly to rub it finding bare skin and a faint network of scars on the back of his head where he had never had scars before. He followed the ridges. It had been a big wound.

She returned quickly, and, after a brief hesitation, knelt beside the bed again. She wasn't thrilled, but his obvious helplessness put her more at ease. "Doc Josh said to give ya some every half hour or so till ya don't want no more," she told him as she helped him drink the second cupful, but when he was finished she got up and carried the cup to the table placing it, and herself, out of reach. "Yer name isRiddick, right?"

He hesitated, wondering how she knew, then recalled it had been mentioned in his dream. They had mentioned Vanessa too. He nodded briefly, watching as a look of dark satisfaction settled on her features.

"Pleased ta meet ya," she smiled warily, "My name's Daria, and when you gets feeling better, I hope we got things to talk about."

Daria! It seemed like his "dream" was more real than not. "Why not now?" he asked. It felt good to have something wet coating his throat and it was starting to loosen up.

"'Cause Doc Josh said ya need ta rest quiet," she answered tentatively.

"I'm not real good at following orders these days," he smiled lightly and a grin slowly crept across the girl's face, a conspiratorial light making her eyes shine.

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An hour and a half later, Riddick was feeling better. Physically he was still weak, but the hydration solution was doing its job and he had already begun to formulate a plan. Daria remained a little chary, but whoever had put that fear in her eyes, it wasn't him, and evidently beyond being male, there was enough different about him that she wasn't going to hold it entirely against him. More than once he caught her pausing when she figured he wasn't looking to close her eyes and draw a slow breath through her nose. He knew _exactly_ what she was doing. Living in fear kicked the body into survival mode, and in survival mode every sense was pulled in to keep you living. He also knew what she was scenting off him would mark him "different" if she could _read_ to that level. Not his own unique scent, most humans couldn't get _that_ selective -- even he couldn't, not to the degree that some animals could, picking out a single scent and following it to the exclusion of all others -- but he knew there were notes to his that were different from most peoples.

He figured it just marked him to his race, his family, something like that. Most everywhere he went he'd found the natives of a place shared common notes, and in some cases families did too although those were oftimes harder to pick up. He figured it probably had something to do with the concentration of genes during colonization creating a unique blend that got fixed in the DNA, the way certain blends of spices took on names, but a good cook could tell you _where_ it was mixed by the variation of smells in it... or at least so he understood.

That had been an ongoing rant from the cook at Sigma 3 that could be heard every other month when the kitchen supplies came in. "I ordered Curry... I told them to get it from Ramajak... Ramajak Curry! If I'd wanted Darnillion Curry I'd have ordered Darnillion Curry!" Or Massat 2, or Fegtra, or Sytrph 4... Riddick had never known there could be so many different kinds of curry. Someone had started keeping a count. There was a pool going to see how many kinds the cook would get before supply got it right. They'd made it to eighteen before the cook's quest was cut prematurely short and he didn't curry anymore... nobody needed his curry anymore.

But that was the way Riddick figured it, and it made sense. He'd been found in a trash can, with no kin to claim him. His mom had probably been a squatter, or a runaway, or some other kind of "I left my homeworld behind me and I'm not going back" trash who had ducked in under the scanners and didn't need the encumbrance of a new baby to slow her down. His father was beyond even guessing. He just figured wherever they came from it was too remote to even be identified because the system had left his homeworld listed as unknown and he'd never run into anyone with notes like his. That left him with a sense of alone that was deeper than he could acknowledge... left him pretty much stuck in survival mode as well but, from what he gathered, he was better equipped than most.

But what all that meant now was he probably didn't smell even remotely like the one that hurt her, and that was a mark in his favor... maybe not the only one. As they talked she hadn't ceased being afraid altogether, but she'd warmed to him -- from a safe distance -- and the fear in her eyes had been replaced with an intensity that told him he she had plans of her own. With that she'd become a wealth of information with every reason to share it so he just let her go on about whatever pleased her. Although she had said they had things to talk about, she was quite content to do the majority of it, and he steered the conversation with occasional questions gleaning what he wanted from what she offered.

This stone room Daria called home was part of a complex unknown to Steinen and cut out of the bedrock beneath the city. Doc Josh, Daria's unofficial guardian, had discovered it and suspected it was left over from the first attempt to colonize the planet. Someone else must have known about it at one time because there were a few accesses to the city above, but it seemed they had been lost or forgotten until Doc Josh rediscovered one buried in the basement of his clinic and claimed a portion of them for the use of the resistance.

It seemed Steinen had made more than one enemy since his heavy-handed take over. It was clearly understood among the "native" population that there were only two classes of citizens on Trishary 4 now days; Steinen's and everybody else. If you weren't Steinen's, you were trash, but you had still better hop when he or his said hop, and you'd better not complain about it or nasty things happened. Outwardly Trishary 4 remained the pleasant, profitable winter tourist haven that the galaxy knew and loved, but tourists usually didn't make it down to low town where most the natives had to live, and evidently the natives were getting restless. Riddick had already begun contemplating how this might be turned to his advantage when Daria's delightful rambling took his thoughts in a whole 'nother direction. Daria had access to Steinen's stronghold.

The security in Steinen's stronghold was top notch, but they had made one small oversight. Steinen had "acquired" the building from a previous owner and upgraded the security to suit his more stringent requirements, but the air ducts had not been included in the original system, so they weren't added to the new one. Those internal pathways were often difficult to access after construction. They would have been expensive to wire, pressurize or otherwise incorporate and after Daria described them, Riddick could understand the omission. The ductwork was far too small and narrow for a normal adult to pass through easily so they had been considered inconsequential. Certainly they were too small and narrow for himself, but then he wasn't a flexible young girl like Daria.

Daria's thin trim figure allowed her to use the ductwork easily, and she did so with cautious regularity as she scrounged for food and recyclables to fuel her living fixing odd technical items. She had learned the layout of Steinen's stronghold by heart. She knew the cameras and guard schedules. She knew the sensors and the lock locations... and through the ductwork she could access virtually any portion of the building.

This was a quite a pleasant discovery for if the security system in Steinen's stronghold had also been installed by TrueGuard, Riddick's little crisis might be easily rectified. Vanessa was older than Daria, and a little larger, but not by much. Given the correct master codes, Daria might be able to slip in wherever Vanessa was being held; get her into the ductwork and out of Steinen's hands before anyone knew what was happening. If Daria could actually get Vanessa back here, they were just over a klick _(kilometer)_ from her daddy's ship. There were a few other wrinkles to work out, but there was potential to this plan and it had been easy to pull Daria on board. The young girl had been easily swayed to feel sympathetic for another teenage girl in Steinen's clutches and for a father in distress over his poor daughter's danger. That and she wanted to hurt Steinen. Hadn't taken much to convince her this would. If all went well she would be back by evening with Vanessa's location in addition to the type of security and locks in the area. That information would be critical. Other aspects of his plan would need detailing now that the Big Freeze was no longer going to be covering his tracks, but it was a start... a potentially good one.

However it was done, it was probably going to leave Daria and her doctor friend in a bind, but he didn't see how that could be helped. Any security breech of this extent was bound to have repercussions, but compared to the bind he was going to be in if he failed, he considered their problems negligible. He lay back feeling a cautious satisfaction and an utter weariness. If talking was so exhausting, it was obvious he wasn't going to be doing anything physically demanding in the next day or two so he might as well be planning, and he felt content with what he had accomplished thus far. He finally let himself succumb to the need for sleep that had been pressing on his mind. He continued to consider possibilities even as he drifted off, but distantly he felt a memory stir, a recollection of his dark dream pulled from the back of his mind by the darkness slowly encroaching on his thoughts... a sound, a sensation... of sobbing.


	10. Chapter 10: Doc Josh

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 10**

**Doc Josh**

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Riddick woke quickly – the almost instant awareness of the hunter and the hunted. He was alone. He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping. Daria had said she expected to be gone till late evening, but there was no way to tell time in this hole in the ground. He was thirsty again, but that was not what woke him. He lay in the bed listening, seeking whatever had set off his alarms and heard footsteps in the distance. They were too heavy to be Daria's, and that was enough to impel him out of the bed. Although he tried to do it carefully, slowly, the room still began to spin and he braced himself against the wall until the sensation eased. He wasn't going to be much good in a fight, but if they didn't know that he might just be able to get the upper hand before they found out. He grabbed a bundle of wire off the table and stuck it in his pocket, then leaning on the wall he made his way down the hall into the shadows beside the entrance.

A short time later a tall dark figure entered. "Darr…" a man's voice started to call as Riddick's hand closed over the back of his neck and propelled the man's startled body in an arc, "…rrriii" the man's voice gathered volume as he swung, "…uh!" he grunted hard as his body impacted against the wall. As part of the same motion Riddick had caught one of the man's wrists and lifted it up behind the man's back, bending the elbow at an acute angle. The man's other hand dropped a dark satchel from stunned fingers. The attack had set Riddick's head to spinning again and he leaned against the man using his weight in lieu of strength as he tried not to black out.

"Move and you're dead," Riddick growled forcing himself to sound much stronger than he felt, and he tightened his grip on the man's neck momentarily to make his point as he noted the man's qualities. His prisoner was tall and black skinned, late 40s, with the scents of disinfectants and cologne embedded in his clothes. His hair was black, marbled with silver, made up of thick tiny curls that covered his head like a skullcap. The muscles beneath Riddick's hands were firm and toned, but the man hadn't reacted like he had any martial training. No struggle, and he had most certainly been too startled to act. _Active life,_ Riddick concluded,_ but not a soldier._

"Mr. Riddick, I presume," the man gasped recovering his breath as he spoke, his words somewhat distorted by the stone wall pressed against his face.

"And if I am?" Riddick answered brusquely, recognizing the voice.

"I'm surprised to see you moving about," the man replied with surprising calm, "I apologize for the piecemeal haircut. The scars won't be permanent. All I had was a …"

"…portable Dar-Gen," Riddick finished for him using the slang term for the dermal regenerator as he found a match to the doctor's words in his dark memory and recalled the scars he had felt on the back of his head. He relaxed his grip on the man's neck marginally, "You're the doc that put my head back together." It was less a question than a statement, but its tone demanded confirmation.

"Yes," the man agreed, "and if I were going to turn you in, I would have done so already."

It wasn't in Riddick's nature to trust, but he knew the voice. He remembered the man's conversation with Daria. The adrenaline that kept Riddick going suddenly began to fade, and he let his hands slip from his prisoner to the wall on either side, bracing himself as he straddled the man with his arms.

"I'm Joshua Jacobson," the man turned from the wall rubbing his abused joints only to find himself constrained not just by Riddick's muscled arms, but by the young man's sheer presence, "but most people just call me Doc Josh," he finished quietly.

"Richard Riddick," the other answered wearily, "Thanks for the patch job," and the doctor realized his captor's stance was less intimidation than it was, perhaps, weakness, and as if on cue one of the muscled arms beside him buckled. Joshua acted instantly catching the failing limb, and slipping under his erstwhile captor's arm before the young man could fall.

Riddick revised his opinion of the man; the Doc reacted quick enough when the reason suited him.

"Do you think you've overdone it just a bit, Richard?" the doctor asked, taking a good portion of the young man's weight upon himself. Riddick looked askance at the man, caught off guard. Richard? In the world he lived in people didn't get personal unless they thought they really cared about you or, more likely, they were trying to convince you they did and wanted something. There were few to none since his childhood who had thought to call him by that name for the first reason, and none who knew of him now who would dare use it for the second, so where was this man coming from?

"Yeah, just a bit," Riddick answered dryly.

"Let me help you back to bed," Doc Josh responded easily. The doctor provided the forward momentum and Riddick went along, his other hand maintaining contact with the wall to provide further stability. "Frankly, I'm surprised to see you up and moving at all," Doc Josh commented as they walked slowly back the way Riddick had come, "That was quite a crack you took, literally."

"Yeah, well, survival is a great motivator," Riddick commented quietly. They covered the remainder of the short distance carefully, but as they entered the main room Riddick balked. "Not the bed," he objected, "I been on my back long enough. I'll take a chair."

"You need to rest," the doctor protested.

Riddick shook his head. "I can rest sittin' in a chair just as easy as layin in a bed," and after a moment's consideration the doctor relented. The direction of their steps changed and brought Riddick to the chair opposite the one Daria had been sitting in. Riddick grabbed the back, and with some small effort spun the piece of furniture around so that he could straddle it as the doctor relaxed his grip. He settled himself in; his forearms folded over the back, his forehead resting on them. Small explosions of light burst before his closed eyes and he couldn't believe such a meager effort should be wiping him out so completely. He heard the doctor return to the hall, probably recovering his satchel, then the man began moving around in what passed for the kitchen, pulling things from the cupboards and boxes, but Riddick paid the doctor no mind as he waited for the fireworks to subside. If Jacobson had wanted to do something, the man had already had opportunities. Riddick knew he was safe enough for the time being and as he rested in the chair he wondered if maybe he should have listened to the Doc, but there was information he needed that Daria couldn't provide.

A time later he heard a tink and the scrape of metal on the table in front of him. Riddick carefully raised his head to find a cup and a plate holding a sandwich in front of him. "I thought you might like something more than HydroSol," the doctor offered as he stepped away to pick up his own meal from the counter. The meat in the sandwich was unidentifiable, but Riddick trusted that the doctor wouldn't feed him anything harmful and reached out to take a bite. The meat was still unidentifiable, but it was good.

"Where'd it come from?" Riddick asked. It was time to test the waters, start collecting information.

"Daria's reasonably self sufficient when it comes to meat," The doctor answered amiably as he cleared a spot on the table for his own meal and sat in the other chair, "when I eat at her table I never know if we're going to have Cairn bear, Burrow goat or Snatchits," he paused, "that's a burrowing rodent relatively common here that Daria traps in the rocks outside. That's how she happened to be witness to your dilemma. But most everything else has to be acquired from topside. There are a few merchants up there we can trust and she trades with them from time to time, but she has to be careful. I make up the difference."

"So her going topside's a problem?" Riddick wondered aloud, wondering if his errand had put the girl in danger; wondering if the information he needed was going to make it back.

"Is that where she's gone?" the doctor asked. Riddick nodded. Doc Josh shrugged despite the concern that entered his eyes. "Everything has an element of risk these days, for her just a little more so. She used to belong to Steinen, in a more literal sense than the law intended, but now he thinks she's dead. If he were to find out otherwise, things could go very badly for her… for a good number of people, but she's gone up before." He shook his head ruefully, "Honestly, she goes up more frequently than I would like, but I can't keep her caged down here and she has her ways of getting around." There was a reluctant admiration to that last statement. It was pretty obvious the Doc didn't necessarily approve of Daria's methods, even as he respected what she could do with them – like infiltrating Steinen's headquarters? Riddick wondered if the Doc knew about that little trick. He was sure that if Jacobson knew that was where the girl was now there would be a shade more than concern in his eyes. "I just have to trust the good Lord to look out for her," the doctor sighed, "but since she **has** stepped out, this makes it is as good as any a time for me to ask you a few questions."

Riddick's eyes narrowed marginally. Looked like the Doc beat him to the punch, but he could play this game too. It was surprising the kind of information that could be gathered from the questions people asked. People always asked questions. They rarely, however, liked his answers.

"Let me get straight to the point," Joshua said intently, "What is your opinion of Daria?"

**That** was not what Riddick had been expecting. The assortment of ambiguous answers to potential questions that had been flitting through his mind retreated while he considered this new angle. "Cute kid," he answered in a calculated tone, "be a real knock out someday. Smart enough, but a bit high strung. Good with her hands." He put a faint inflection on the last comment. Not enough to be blatant, but just enough… fishing. Jacobson bit; his eyes hardening.

"And just where do your tastes run?" the doctor challenged dangerously; an attitude so incongruous with his previous demeanor that Riddick almost laughed.

"I like mine," Riddick rumbled as he lifted his hands and shaped the classic hourglass figure in the air, wincing invisibly as his head protested the movement, "a little meatier, more experienced." There was an odd flinch in the doctor's eyes as he heard the last word.

"Steinen has something of yours," the Doc stated next as if it were a continuation of the same conversation. "How badly to you want her back?" The trail of discussion suddenly became very clear. Yes, Steinen had something Riddick wanted back, and Steinen would want Daria – if he knew she was alive. Riddick doubted Steinen would be interested in a trade of that nature; Vanessa Grycov had a value to Steinen that was far beyond recovering a slave, but the Doc didn't know that. It was a prime opportunity to test the mettle of this dark skinned physician. It was good to know what kind of man was standing behind you, or in front of you for that matter.

"Badly." Riddick stated flatly, watching the doctor's reaction.

"Badly enough to kill for her?" the doctor questioned.

"Already have." The young man answered frankly.

"Badly enough to betray someone who's helped you?" the doctor continued.

"That depends," Riddick drawled insolently "on the particulars of the situation." His tone was calculated to draw a response, and it did just that.

The doctor's face went still, but his eyes suddenly lit with a cold fire as he stood to lean over the table, his voice low and threatening, "Now see here, Richard Riddick, that girl saved your life at no small risk to her own, and if that does not create in you some kind of obligation to protect her secret, I will give you another one. If I think you are going to betray her to Steinen, I will kill you."

That threat coming out of the doctor's mouth seemed almost ludicrous, except that the man was completely serious. So serious, in fact, that Riddick felt his heart pick up, felt the adrenaline kick in, felt his perception of time slow as his body prepped for the fight, every instinct reacting to the danger suddenly exuding from the pores of the dark skinned man. A dull ache began to spread from the back of his head in protest. Riddick knew he was in no condition to fight right now, even an untrained civilian wimp and he wasn't sure the doctor qualified as a wimp, but no one knew that except him. "You makin' a threat you can't keep, Jacobson?" Riddick asked icily as he straightened up in the chair, his shoulders lifting smoothly, flexing, his arms gliding back to casual positions of quick launch. He didn't have to stand – he wasn't sure he could right now, but he knew from experience that the simple physical preparation of his body, the broadening of his shoulders, the quiet ready fists, the cold light in his eye, were every bit as intimidating. But the doctor didn't back down. "Don't forget your Hippocratic oath, Doctor," Riddick added mockingly.

"You don't know what he did to her," Joshua growled.

"No, I don't. Why don't you tell me," Riddick responded lazily. And so the doctor did. It wasn't the worse Riddick had heard of, it wasn't even the worse he'd seen, but Daria was just a kid. A familiar disgust roiled in his gut. No wonder she cried at night. No wonder she wanted Steinen dead.

"Anyone who would willingly return her to that kind of torment has no soul," the doctor snarled, "and I will gladly see them in hell first."

"What's it matter to you?" Riddick replied, his indolent manner belying the tension in his muscles and the ringing in his ears, "She ain't no kin of yours."

"That has nothing to do with it," The doctor snapped.

"It has everything to do with it," Riddick returned, his own voice taking on an air of menace that carried the promise of death in sub-harmonic tones, "You don't know who you're messing with. You willing to die for a kid that ain't yours?"

"Try me," was all the doctor answered. Riddick suspected Jacobson might be hedging his bet. A few minutes ago Riddick had needed help to stand, but that didn't make him helpless. If it came down to it, it was easier to kill than to capture.

Riddick made a show of deliberately looking over the items on the table, then looked up to meet Jacobson's eyes. "Doctor, there's at least ten ways I can kill you just sittin' here," he informed the physician truthfully, the threat in his voice carrying the weight of promise, "and standing up opens a whole new can of possibilities. Don't think weakness is a hindrance. It's just an obstacle, and I eat obstacles."

A man would be a fool to not feel some fear of Riddick in this mood, it was something experienced on a visceral level, and the doctor was no fool, but his stance did not falter, "Try me," the doctor repeated, and with that Riddick did burst out laughing.

"OK, Doc, I believe you." Riddick grinned, "You're a gusty man, a good one to have in the corner." Riddick forced the tension from his muscles and let his shoulders relax. His head throbbed in protest of the farce, "Daria's lucky yer lookin' out fer her." He reached out and picked up his sandwich, taking another bite. The doctor looked shaken and stunned and relieved and confused, and Riddick wasn't surprised. He'd taken the man on a mental and emotional gamut. "Look, Doc," he said around the mouthful, "You can relax. I needed to find out what kind of man I was dealing with, but I don't take candy from babies and I don't hurt kids. Adults, well, that's another matter," Riddick said with a faint smile, then the smile disappeared, "and adults that like hurtin' kids, like Steinen, well, they're another matter all together."

It was said so casually that a chill went down Doctor Joshua's spine. He sat down. He started slow, but finished fast as his legs gave out on the last six inches. It was no idle comment. Ten ways to kill sitting down… he knew in his gut that the boy was telling the truth. Joshua was already convinced Richard was trained to kill; he had felt it in the young man's hands when he was pinned to the wall. Just who was this Richard Riddick? Why did the name sound familiar? If for the sake of no one else but Daria, Joshua knew he had to find out, but he was reassured in one regard. He had felt with a sureness he didn't question that Daria was physically safe with this Richard Riddick. It had been confirmed when he saw the young man's eyes shift as he described the injuries she had suffered at Steinen's hands… but there were other ways she could be hurt. How safe was she in those regards? This young man put him on edge. To cover his discomfort he took a bite of his own sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. To say the least, Daria had acquired a very interesting houseguest.

**A◊◊◊◊●◊◊◊◊◊●◊◊◊◊◊●◊◊◊◊◊●◊◊◊◊◊●◊◊◊◊◊●◊◊◊◊◊●◊◊◊◊Ω**

An hour and a half later their conversation had ranged from Jacobson's clinic in low town, the spaceport, Steinen's occupation, the local comm. grid, the city's difficulties, the PACIS system, the peoples' plight and numerous subjects in between. Riddick had never run into someone who had so integrated their religion into their everyday life, but in all areas of interest to Riddick, the doctor was surprisingly well informed… but then the doctor was also a member of the resistance although that little detail had not come up in **this** conversation. He also learned that the doctor was way too persistent about pushing his beliefs on other people, in particular his belief that Riddick should be in bed. "I really think you need to lie down," Doctor Joshua said for the fourth time in the last half hour, "you are pushing yourself too hard and your going to do yourself permanent damage."

"Pain is an obstacle, doctor," Riddick finally growled, "You don't let it slow you down. You push through it and it goes away." He didn't like Jacobson's harping, but the man had a point that was getting hard to ignore, particularly since the fireworks were edging in again.

"Head wounds are different," Jacobson explained again, "they can't be rushed or ignored. Richard, please, you _need_ to rest. You need to give your brain a chance to heal!" Riddick wanted to ignore him, but the man **was** a doctor, and he suspected if he didn't listen Jacobson would find some way to try and make him. He'd already seen that this doctor didn't back down easily.

"Fine," Riddick finally relented, "I'll lay down for a few minutes if it'll get you off my back," and with that admission of compliance he finally, consciously, surrendered to the weariness that he'd been fighting. It was greater than he'd been expecting. The surge of tiredness rocked Riddick like a physical wave. His vision blacked as he tried to stand and another wave of aching tiredness washed over him. He would have sat down hard, possibly even garroting himself on the back of the chair if it weren't for Jacobson beside him. Yeah, the doctor was definitely quick when he wanted to be. Even before Riddick's vision began to return Jacobson had taken up position under his arm again. "Come on," the doctor said, "let's get you in bed before I have to carry you."

That made for an amusing mental picture, but Riddick recognized it as a real possibility if he didn't move while he could. Forcing muscles to obey, he moved his feet in the direction Jacobson was guiding.

"Perhaps it's a good thing you're sticking around for a little longer," the Doctor commented pleasantly as he helped Riddick ease down on the bed. Riddick's head sunk into the pillow as his thoughts grew heavy, but he could hear the doctor easily enough, "Do you believe in Providence, Richard?"

Providence? The word sank into Riddick's consciousness slowly. What the hell was Providence? But before he could respond the lights went out.


	11. Chapter 11: Bare Necessities

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**A◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊Ω**

**Chapter 11**

**Bare Necessities**

**A◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊●●●●●◊Ω**

Life snuck back in gradually. Soft sounds, distracted murmurs, occasional clicks and clinks, snaps and taps filtered in through a fog, but as soon as he was conscious of it, the fog began to fade. The scent of something rich and meaty crept down his nostrils and twisted his stomach into a knot of hunger. He opened his eyes to a familiar stone ceiling, was covered with a familiar fur blanket, and experienced a curious sense of déjà vu, but this time he knew the name of the girl at the table. "Hey, Daria," he called quietly.

The girl reacted immediately, dropping her tools, although her hand wasn't far from the knife at her waist. "Mr. Riddick," she exclaimed, "You're better!" She got up and moved around the table to almost an arm's reach from the bed to look at him as if she couldn't believe her eyes. Weary relief was written on her pretty features, "God," she paused suddenly and glanced upwards as her hand went to her lips, "Sorry," she murmured then looked at Riddick again, "I was worried 'bout you!"

"You got anymore of that drink the Doc left?" he asked feeling parched.

"Yeah," she immediately head for the 'kitchen.' A short time later she was back with a cup. Riddick rolled up on one elbow to take it feeling aches in his body that told him he'd been lying still for way too long, but he was gratified that his hand remained steady as he took the cup and drained it. He saw a shadow of wariness enter her eyes at his new mobility, but he ignored it. The best way he knew to reassure her was keep it "normal" and keep eye contact to minimum for awhile.

"Your Doc is a stubborn man, you know that?" he commented wryly as he handed it back to her.

"Yeah, he is," she smiled faintly as she cautiously took the cup back then retreated to a safe distance. "I ran into him on the way back. He said you two had talked a bit. He was grumpin' that you were pushing yerself too hard. Said he kept telling you ya needed ta lay down and get some rest but you were bein' a real jerk about it. He was this close," she lifted her hand and measured out a thin space with her thumb and forefinger, "ta dropping a bomb in yer drink when you finally gave in."

"Why does that not surprise me," Riddick muttered, then cocked his head and glanced at Daria, "Jacobson said I was bein' a jerk?" he asked bemused.

"No, Doc Josh," she enunciated the Doctor's nick name as if Riddick had just insulted the man, "said you were being…," she paused a moment, reviewing the syllables before she spoke them aloud, "…recalcitrant. I figure it means the same thing."

"Doc Josh," he replied with faint derision indicating he had heard her correction, and didn't much care, "can keep his mothering to himself. I get hurt, I push through. It's how I survive. How long'd I sleep?"

"It's tomorrow afternoon," she answered soberly, "You been asleep a whole day."

"32 hours," Riddick shook his head in amazement, "Guess I was tired."

"It was more than that," Daria contradicted, and Riddick looked at the girl strangely, "Doc Josh told me you'd probably sleep most the night. But you weren't just sleeping, Mr. Riddick, you didn't even move," the remembrance of a different kind of fear touched her face, "Fer awhile yer breathin' was so soft it scared me, an I couldn't get you ta wake up! I couldn't get hold of Doc Josh neither; there'd been an accident; he was in surgery… I thought you might die, Mr. Riddick. Wasn't till this morning that you finally moved a little." She suddenly shifted away and wrapped her arms around herself. "I didn't sleep none all night. I was so scared I was even beggin' God not to let you die," her voice caught as she tried hard not to cry, then her head lifted and she met his eye, "please, Mr. Riddick, don't do that again," she pleaded.

Riddick was almost stunned. It had been a while since anyone cared if he lived or died. He also had to admit that maybe the Doc _had_ known what he was talking about. Riddick could deal with _that_. "I won't," he agreed holding her gaze. For a moment he saw beyond her veil of fear and found yearning and concern and hope and expectation. _She thinks I'm her damn knight in a bullet proof suit,_ he thought, and for a moment he felt a near foreign sensation, uncertainty. He hadn't signed up to be anybody's hero. Last time he'd done that he'd been worked over five ways from Sunday, but that look... "I won't." he repeated.

It felt strange and discomforting to know someone was looking up to him... someone who saved his life... someone whom he might just have to screw over to get what he needed. He snarled internally, frustrated with this sudden attack of principles. "I been layin' down too long," he said gruffly ending the conversation and the thought process.

"OK," her eyes widen briefly, a cornered look dominating, then she caught herself. "You're probably hungry," she said hastily, "I made extra for you,"

"Yeah, that'd be good," Riddick nodded, and as she fled for the 'kitchen' he pulled the blanket off and swung his feet to the floor. He moved gingerly, expecting fireworks, but except for a brief narrowing of his vision his head it held together.

"Here you go, Mr. Riddick," Daria said a few minutes later as she cautiously set a bowl of thick stew on the edge of the table. He could see chunks of meat and some sort of vegetable or two he didn't recognized swimming in a rich brown broth and the nearness of its scent only increased the sharpness of the knot in his stomach. Riddick ignored it, reminding his stomach who was in charge as he pulled on his boots.

"You know, most people call me Riddick," he said offhand trying to ease the tension his movement was causing. She nodded as if she heard him but it didn't really make a difference, "This mister stuff ain't what I'm used to."

"Doc Josh says it's disrespectful to call a person by just their last name. Says it's impersonal and rude," Daria explained a little nervously watching him.

"Can't say he's wrong," Riddick replied thoughtfully, pointedly ignoring her wary behavior, _Mercs an military certainly ain't what you'd call personal organizations, _he agreed silently. Out loud he added, "I certainly don't travel in what anyone would mistake as respectful circles. So what's it mean if he calls you by your first name?"

"That you mean something to him," she said simply, and Riddick sensed some of her apprehensions easing as his attention remained on his boots.

He knew that would be the answer, but it surprised him anyway. "How could I mean anything to him? He don't even know me," he scoffed.

"Doc Josh cares about most ever'body," Daria answered, defense of her keeper putting some 'stiff' in her backbone, "but he spent over 5 hours unsquashing your brain and putting that jigsaw puzzle you call a skull back together. You mean something to him."

"He's a doctor. It's his job."

"An why do ya think he's a doctor?"

"It pays good," Riddick answered flatly.

At that Daria gave a most unfeminine bark of laughter causing Riddick to look up suddenly. "You're kidding, right?" She stared at Riddick, and when his face remained unchanged she shook her head. "Dude, you don't know nuthin' about Doctor Joshua," and with that she walked down the hall and began rummaging through a storage unit along one wall that had been divided into cubicles across its width and height. A dismissal if he'd ever gotten one, although he wasn't being ignored completely. Even as she worked she was very careful to keep him in the field of her peripheral vision.

Riddick stared at the girl with amusement. As if he _wanted_ to know anything more about Joshua Jacobson. There were things a lot more necessary. Riddick finished securing his boots then collected the stew from the edge of the table. Daria, for instance, and the information she had been sent to collect. And as she walked back in with a circuit board, glancing surreptitiously at him and the bowl in his hands with more than caution in her eyes, he knew just how to get her talking again. Wasn't a cook in the universe that didn't like to hear how good their grub was. He doubted the girl was an exception.

Two and a half bowls later he had the information he needed, and he hadn't even had to lie. The girl did stir a decent pot of stew and most of her intel was just as satisfying. The locks on the outer doors were not among the codes Steven had given him, but then if things went his way he wouldn't need them. He _did_ have the codes for the lock on Vanessa's cell, and that put having Daria pull Vanessa into the duct system in the realm of feasible. There was an aspect to that plan that did not sit well with him. He disliked putting such a critical part of the operation in someone else's hands, especially some twip of a girl, but the alternative was infiltration on a much grander scale; something on par with going in to take out Steinen himself.

While Riddick had to admit that there was a certain appeal to the thought, the risks made it way too big to be considered, especially alone. _It's a cryin' shame it ain't more possible, _he chuckled to himself, _That certainly might take care of the communication problem. No head: no orders. 'Course there's no way of knowin' how fast his boots'll be filled, or if we could get off planet in the ruckus._

He reached up, running his hand through his hair as he considered his other problems. In the absence of a Big Freeze, he needed someway to get through Steinen's grid without setting it off and/or to prevent Steinen from scrambling the squads he had stationed in this system if it did – of particular concern since he was pretty sure his ship's PACIS ID had been leaked. Riddick knew his ship was good, but Steinen had access to some heavy firepower of his own. Nor was Riddick confident he could take on all the ships Steinen might throw at him with just himself to handle the stick, gun, and nav in every skirmish. Computers were only so much help in a firefight. Stealing another ship might be a better option… his fingers hit the bare skin and ridges on the back of his head. And then there was that. He didn't have a mirror, and he wasn't sure he wanted one. He pulled out his boot knife and tested the edge. Some things were more immediately necessary than others.

"Hey, Daria," Riddick called over to the girl where she was working on the other side of the table as he ran his hand over his half shorn head again, "Ya got something slick around here? I feel like some lady's lapdog."

Daria looked up sharply at his voice, then saw his rueful gesture and giggled. "A lap mastiff, maybe," she teased.

Riddick threw her an irritated look, "Yer funny. Help me out here."

That actually made her laugh then she looked over her table considering her little pot of grease and the near empty bottle of lubricant as she pursed her lips in thought. Finally she looked up at him again, "Don't got enough of nuthin', except maybe, well," she hesitated and Riddick looked at her impatiently, "well, there's Butter Stuff in the stasis box."

"Butter Stuff," Riddick repeated in exasperation, then after a moment reconsidered. Butter on Trishary 4, such that it was, was reserved for the tourists and those that could afford it. The rest had to make do with the universally available reconstituted, stale tasting butter flavored crap not so fondly called Butter Stuff. Some had even better names for it. It might be good for calories if the oil in it were actually organic in nature, but on some planets there was even some question as to that. But he wasn't going to eat the stuff. "You might just have something there, kid. Smart thinking," and with that he got up, striding for the stasis box, his boot knife casually twirling in his hand making every effort to ensure no movement of his seemed a threat toward her, and as he turned back around, Butter Stuff in hand, he caught her watching at him. She immediately ducked her head back down to her work, but not before Riddick caught the flickers of a genuine smile at the edges of her mouth.

A few minutes later had Riddick sitting on the edge of the bed with the crock of Butter Stuff on the floor next to him. His brown hair turned black as he worked a handful of the greasy stuff over his scalp, then picked up his knife and began scraping carefully. It wasn't the first time he'd gone bare. Part of his initiation into the Hubble Bay slam system had been a _complete_ shave – to prevent the transmission of undesirable vermin they said, but they weren't fooling anyone. There were other ways just as effective. Humiliation and identification were their angle. It was a bit like the animal handler's trick of shaving the tail of a new work beast. When other handlers saw the 'shave tail,' they knew to watch themselves and pair the rookie up with an older, more experienced animal. By the time the newbie's tail grew in the beast had been indoctrinated into the system.

Same concept. ID the rookie so the rest of the inmates could introduce him into the system properly, break his spirit, teach him manners, but Riddick didn't go for that crap. He broke a few heads, a few arms, a leg or two and the rest learned to leave him alone, bare head or not. He finally decided to keep the 'do' though, not for any esthetics, but because it shortened his time in the showers and let him get a decent workout on occasion. It hadn't taken him long to earn a reputation, and after a while, when some other facility foisted its problem child off on Hubble Bay, it became Riddick's job to initiate _them_.

These kind of guys would come in looking to carve themselves a niche right off – advertise, draw attention, warn everybody what a bad ass they were – but most would be smart enough to pick a target that would get them noticed without ruffling some local crew's feathers. Shave heads were prime prey. The first time the transfer was introduced to the prison population, the Hubble Bay guards would arrange for it to be during Riddick's general rec period in the dog run and if the transfer was stupid enough to try establishing himself by taking on the young muscle bound 'newbie', the guards would casually turn their backs while Riddick taught the smart ass his place in the new joint. After he checked himself out of Hubble Bay Riddick let his hair grow out, but now that he'd done both he'd decided he might just stick with the 'clean' look. To be sure, anything was better than what Jacobson had left him with.

As he worked, he watched the girl at the table. She had a new device spread out before her and as he arranged the pieces together in his mind he recognized it as a small shield generator. It was relatively recent technology. They hadn't yet managed to get them big enough to cover whole ships like they did in the science fiction movies, it took too much energy, but personal sized ones were popping up here and there among the rich, famous and desperate, and after what he'd seen, he suspected they were being packed in survival gear here on Trishary 4. This particular unit had seen better days. The exterior housing looked to have taken quite a battering; including exposure to extreme cold, and it wasn't long before he realized this was the shield Daria used to save him from the Big Freeze. After it's inert exposure to Big Freeze conditions many of its components were nonfunctional, and most people would have just thrown the unit away considering it more trouble than it was worth to fix, but Daria was making short work of the task as she nimbly jerry rigged some pieces and swapped out others from the odds and ends she and Jacobson scavenged. Her skill was impressive, especially considering her age.

"Just how old are you?" Riddick asked.

Daria had decided she was comfortable with his new mobility so long as she stayed on one side of the table and he stayed on the other by the bed or further and didn't make any sudden moves, so she didn't jump when he spoke this time.

She paused in her work and stopped to consider the question. "'Bout fourteen I think, maybe near fifteen," she shrugged, "Was somewheres 'round thirteen when Doc saved me, and I been living here little over a year." She went back to her work.

"How long you plan on livin' down here?" He looked around. As holes went it was quite comfortable, but it was still a hole.

"Depends," she mumbled around the soldering tool she held in her teeth as she repaired a circuit with multiple wires. It took her a minute, then she set the soldering tool down and connected the circuit board to a small power supply, "Doc says when I'm old enough to take care of myself decent he'll help me get off this ice ball and send me somewhere Steinen can't find me." She picked up a diagnostic display that showed evidence of similar restoration and began aiming it at circuits, "But if something happens to Steinen," she glanced hopefully at Riddick then looked back to the display and made an adjustment, "Doc says he'll 'dopt me and I can live with him."

"Dopt?" Riddick repeated peculiarly.

"Yeah, you know, 'dopt, when folks take a kid nobody wants and makes 'em part of a family," Daria explained patiently.

"I know what adopt means," Riddick replied reluctantly, "Some couple found me in a trashcan when I was a baby. They adopted me, but it didn't last long. They got killed and I was somebody else's problem from then on."

"Their last name Riddick?" Daria set her display down and lifted her head to look at him. He nodded, and she shook her head, a look of soft pain crossing her face, "That's sad, but they must have loved you."

"Why would you say that?" Riddick asked, surprise making his voice curt.

"You got a name don't you?" Daria's eyebrows knit together trying to understand his irritation. "When a kids born ta folks they're supposed ta want it. They made it. They're – what's the word Doc's always usin' – they're responsible. But 'doptin', that's different. Those Riddick folks, they had a choice. They could have left you off in some orphan house, but they didn't. They 'cided ta take you in; gave you a name, made you a Riddick too." She paused, then looked down at her project, poked at a few wires for a moment as if recalling something she'd rather not, "I got no name but Daria, and that weren't the one I was born with, if I had one at all. Got left in the baby drawer at an orphanage on Turad-Baken. Lived there my whole life. Would'da got ta pick my own last name when I come of age, but Steinen found me first. Paid my fees and dragged me with him when he came back here. Said I was his ward, but I was more like his slave... his toy, and he don't play nice with his toys," she shuddered, "He 'specially don't like it none when his toys talk back. That's how I met Doc Josh. Wasn't right what Steinen done."

She fell silent for a time, then looked up to meet Riddick's eyes, "Know what I really want? I want ta belong ta someone. Not belong like they got a paper sayin's they owns me, that they can do what they want with me, but that I belong with 'em. Like you had. You know what I mean? You're one of them; family, like you look out for each other... keep each other safe." She smiled as if she were sharing a secret, "There's something special about knowing someone loves you enuf ta try an do what they thinks best fer you even if it ain't always what's best for them. Ta know someone's worrin' about you and if'n you're in trouble they'll be there for ya," she said wistfully.

"I think you got that already," Riddick responded wryly recalling his conversation with Doc Josh.

"Yeah," she acknowledged, "but its not quite the same. Doc Josh does that, but if'n he has ta send me away and something happens, I'm alone. If I'm legal 'dopted, I don't just got a home, I got family. Don't matter where I go, I get in trouble and I know there's somebody they can call who's gonna come. And family don't expect nothing in return, they're gonna be there just cause they care about me... Daria Jacobson." She giggled, "Its gotta ring to it, don't ya think?" Then she grew serious, "Doc'd do that now, but Steinen's got those papers saying I'm his. Even if he didn't, it'd be hard to pull off. Most the judges here ain't straight anymore, an the ones that want ta be have ta be real careful. Steinen gets lots of cheap work through the legal works. Any kid that don't got family to claim 'em goes into Steinen's system. Calls it child welfare, but its more like getting took as a slave. Most boys end up on his police squads or labor gangs. Girls get kitchen, laundry... some…" she stopped suddenly then shrugged, "But that's the difference. Knowing someone cares enough ta want ta look out for ya, ta make ya legal theirs but not because they want somethin' from you. Ta know that come good or bad, freeze or shine, they've claimed ya fer their own blood and you don't owe them nothing for it cause they want what's best fer _you_. That they're givin' you... their leavin' you with the best thing they got."

"The Riddicks didn't leave me with nothing I know of," Riddick shook his head, "If they did I never got it."

"Yeah, ya did," Daria corrected, "That's something I learned early. Things don't stay and people can't be trusted. There ain't no thing you can hold to that someone can't take, but what yer folks left you, Mr. Riddick, no one can ever take from you now. It's not just havin' someone there -- I know you don't got that no more -- but it's the knowin' in yer heart someone really cared… that they wanted so much to keep you... to keep you safe... that they made you theirs... really theirs, and they were your's. They gave you that, Mr. Riddick, they gave you their name. Doc has this book he reads all the time; calls it the Bible. Makes me learn stuff from it sometimes," she made a face and Riddick smiled, "but there's this one sentence I remember. Thought it was kinda nice. Goes something like, 'A good name is more better than lots of money(1).' That's what I want, Mr. Riddick, a good name."

"And what's a good name?" he asked thinking of multiple possibilities.

"A real one... a legal one. One that says somebody really wants me fer me, and not fer what they can get from me. You know what I mean?"

Riddick thought briefly about those distant years when he had wished someone cared, when he had been sure the only thing necessary to make his life right would have been a family that wanted him. He supposed it might be true. By Daria's definition he had a good name. Maybe the Riddicks' _had _loved him... they'd taken a baby thrown in the trash and made him theirs - they'd been his... for a time. It wasn't their fault they weren't there when he needed them, but the result had been the same. "Yeah," Richard Riddick answered softly, "I know what you mean."

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**-oOo-**

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**Special note to JackylnK**** – **Hope your still reading because I wanted to let you know I had to laugh when I was reading your story, "Where You Headed?" and got to the part about the mastiff. You see, I had written the lapdog conversation for this chapter before I had even found the Fan Fiction site. Great minds think alike? LOL

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**CARE TO LOOK THEM UP? Here's the Bible references used in this chapter:**

1) Proverbs 22:1


	12. Chapter 12: Bad Reception

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 12**

**Bad Reception**

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There was a hospital within the city. It primarily treated tourists and whoever could afford the care or had the insurance to pay for it. Steinen also had medical staff to cover the general needs of his guild, but when it came to matters of personal importance to Steinen, including his own health, he called on Dr Joshua Jacobson; a man who, for all intents and purposes, Steinen appeared to despise. It was an odd situation that Joshua could never quite fathom. He was a low town doctor with a relatively small clinic, not because his skill warranted such low placement, but because his heart held him in the area of greatest need. He had received his medical degree from a school of no great repute, but Joshua's endless pursuit of medical knowledge had served him well, and he had made a name for himself. Later his move to Trishary 4, and to the low town of Earratist City, provided other opportunities many doctors missed, though few regretted.

With the experience he had accrued and the innovative techniques he employed and even pioneered over the years Dr Jacobson was likely among the more skillful doctors on the planet but since coming to Trishary 4 he had done little to advertise his skill. Joshua had come to realize wealth and status were more burdens than prizes. Before he had met Sarah, he had thought being the best, being the richest, was everything he wanted in life, but somehow no matter how much he had, he never had enough. He would strive harder and harder, only to feel emptier and emptier and more and more alone. Something had to break, and it had been him. Then he met Sarah, and through her he found what he had been missing – a saving faith in a living God. Now he garnered more satisfaction from the grateful handshake of a healthy patient than he ever did from a credit payment regardless of the number of zeros, and while Sarah's death left a residing emptiness, he did not feel alone. It was quite a different life than he had once been living, and few who knew him now ever associated the Dr Joshua Jacobson whose name appeared off and on in medical journals with the quiet low town physician.

Unfortunately Steinen knew of Doctor Joshua's skills, and perhaps he enjoyed the sadistic irony of the deal, for almost a year after Dr Sarah Jacobson's death, Steinen asked Dr Joshua to act as his personal physician. Joshua would have preferred that was not the case. He would have preferred Steinen did not know he existed, but that was not what God had arranged so Joshua took advantage of the dubious honor set upon him. Steinen ensured Joshua had the best of whatever equipment he needed, nor did the hospital dare deny Steinen's own physician the use of its surgical bays, labs or resources. The moderate money Steinen paid him also had its uses. It was an arrangement Joshua forced himself to live with for Steinen care little if Joshua to abused those privileges for the benefit of his other patients so long as the doctor remained at guild leader's beck and call.

So it was he was that he was obeying Steinen's directives once again despite having been in surgery most the night, despite desperately wanting to go below, although if Richard had slipped into a coma again there was little more Joshua could do without bringing him topside. He was in the good Lord's hands again, which, truth be told, wasn't a bad place for any man to be. Joshua said a prayer for the young man, and then for himself as he always did before stepping into Steinen's presence. Steinen had demanded Joshua bring in the girl's information today at 8 AM precisely, which, other issues aside, was just as well for Joshua intended to see the young woman Richard had been protecting while he was there. At the door his bag was searched again, and Joshua considered the ridiculousness of it. They searched for obvious weapons - guns and explosives - failing to note that the doctor had a veritable arsenal of lethal drugs and medical tools in the bag that they permitted him to carry into Steinen's presence every time he answered the merc leader's summons. He wasn't sure if it was ignorance or arrogance on Steinen's part, but he suspected the latter.

Steinen styled himself an aristocratic warlord of sorts, and the décor of the meeting room was designed to impress and promote that impression. Rich works of art from several eras' graced the walls, while pedestals with an assortment of sculptures stood in alcoves along the sides. It was an eclectic collection, well displayed, with a single theme to pull it together. Every piece, no matter how beautiful, or graphic, or graceful or haunting, dealt somehow with death. There was only one piece in the room that Joshua could even remotely appreciate, and even that one he hated.

The vivid painting displayed Christ's final moments upon the cross, and as the viewer walked past the piece they could watch, in exquisite detail, Jesus offering a final despairing glance at heaven. Joshua could almost hear his Savior's final words, "_It is finished,(__1_" all debts are paid in full, then, as the Christ's savaged body sagged in death, the sky behind the cross erupted into a violent display of lighting so vivid that the thunder was only as far away as the viewer's imagination. The lighting was joined by rain that fell like tears forming a crystal stream rushing over rocks toward the front edge of the painting, threatening to spill off the canvas, and as the sequence finished the rushing water turned crimson with blood from the foot of the cross. It was a magnificently created work that tore at the heart with the desolate pain and awful death depicted and while Joshua cherished the sacrifice represented, he hated the piece all the same. Where was the miraculous joy of the resurrection? Where was the gracious offer of forgiveness? Where was the glorious promise of eternal life? Christ had made all that possible by his atoning sacrifice, but the painting fell short of sharing that promise and left a lifeless Jesus hanging upon the cross in sorrowful incompletion.

The Christ Joshua followed was alive, and Joshua made no pretense about his faith, something which Steinen seemed to take as a personal affront. The mercenary guild owner frequently mocked the doctor, and Joshua sometimes wondered if Steinen had bought the crucifixion painting solely to spite him. Perhaps that is why the mercenary permitted the doctor his little arsenal. Steinen knew the doctor's faith would not allow its use to harm, but if he knew Joshua Jacobson's heart he might not have been so complacent. Joshua had made his peace with his wife's murder and hate no longer consumed him, but every time he left Steinen's presence some small part of him still wondered if he should have found the opportunity to draw a scalpel across Steinen's throat. Steinen's décor did little to diminish the desire, and it only served to remind Joshua how far he fell short of his Savior's example, and how much he continued to need God's strength and courage.

But while Joshua detested the dreadful room, Steinen delighted in the oppressive atmosphere his works engendered, for not only did it tend to affirm to clients that he was serious about his business, but it reminded his subordinates of the price they would pay if they disappointed him. Thus it was he conducted his everyday business there, and was using it now to conduct a long distance meeting.

As Joshua entered he saw the image of a distinguished man sitting behind a rich wooden desk upon Steinen's large wall mounted screen. The man's hair was a grizzled black, as was his beard, and both were trimmed fashionably sharp. His suit was casual, but expensive, as was the décor of the study behind him. "Ah, and here he is. Punctual as usual," Steinen crowed to the man on the screen as Joshua entered, "Doctor Jacobson, may I introduce you to my bitterest rival, Raspin Grycov." Joshua nodded politely to the man on the screen. "You have some information Raspin wants to see, Doctor. He doubts his eyes and my honesty." Steinen motioned Joshua over to the comm. terminal with surprising courtesy, and the doctor knew the show of respect was purely for Mr. Grycov's benefit. Knowing what was wanted, Joshua withdrew a data stick from his bag and inserted it in the reader.

"This is the DNA and health information from the young lady you had me take a sequence from 3 days ago," the doctor touched a few keys to display the information as well as transmit it, "When I last saw her she was in good health, although she was noticeably upset as indicated by the elevated levels here and here," he was vague as he gestured toward screen not knowing Raspin Grycov's medical literacy and well aware that it didn't matter, "They indicate exceptionally high stress and fear, but I'm confident you don't need me to clarify. You have your own specialists who can explain in detail," Mr. Grycov nodded briefly, "I did detect the presence of a dormant virus," Joshua added, "but with Mr. Steinen's permission I will start treatment today before it can become a problem."

"Of course," Steinen boomed magnanimously, but a dark undercurrent of threat flowed beneath his generous voice, "after all we can't have sweet little Vanessa getting sick, now can we?"

Raspin Grycov all but ignored Steinen as he stared at the screen, then the doctor, "What had her so upset?" he asked Joshua sharply, "…besides finding herself in the hands of this despicable thug?"

"Forgive me, sir," Joshua caught the gleam in Steinen's eye, "I can not say."

"Oh, but I can," Steinen beamed triumphantly, "She was upset at the tragic death of her poor bodyguard. One Richard B Riddick, wasn't it?" Steinen waited a moment for the impact of his statement to sink in, then continued smugly, "My captain threw him off a very high cliff. I suppose I should be flattered that you would call in the likes of him to snatch your daughter from my domain, but he failed. Now you will meet my demands, or you will never see your daughter alive again."

It was quite obvious that Steinen thought he had played his trump card, so he was completely nonplussed when Grycov stared at him over the view screen and asked flatly, "Where's the body?"

"Body?" Steinen started in surprise, "what body?"

"Riddick's body," Grycov answered plainly. If he were the least bit concerned for his daughter, he didn't let it show. Joshua wanted to smile. "If your going to tell me Riddick's dead," Grycov continued, "you better show me a body with full DNA sequence," he nodded toward the doctor, "because until you do I won't believe it, and until I believe it you've got no deal."

Steinen's demeanor changed, his genteel front dissolving, "Captain Cuddian sent your precious Riddick over a cliff outside the city and left him laying in a pool of blood at the bottom." Steinen stalked over to a clear display cabinet and removed a talon shaped knife that Joshua recognized. "You don't think I'd be able to get my hands on this otherwise do you?" he brandished the knife as if he could toss it on Grycov's desk through the screen, "Fifteen minutes later the city was locked down for a Big Freeze. I don't need to tell you what that means do I, Raspin?" His sneer turned the name into an insult, "Your Riddick is dead and frozen stiff on the rocks below the city. Don't play games with me, Grycov, it's your daughter's life on the line."

"I'm not playing games," Grycov responded just as sharply, "I simply know Riddick much better than you, Fredrick," he grinned, "and reports of his demise in the past have been very premature. Let me put in simple terms you can understand; no body, no deal." He shook his head, "If you don't have a body, I suggest you find it because if you can't," his grin grew broader, "you'd better be watching your backs. Grycov out." The man reached to the side and the screen went blank.

"No!" Steinen screamed, "NO!" He slammed his fist down on the table, then went still as he drew a deliberate breath and let it out slowly. When he straightened up his face was cold and emotionless. He stabbed a code into his comm. console as if it was Grycov's heart, and when the light flashed he shouted, "Cuddian!" Joshua heard the captain answer, "Listen up," Steinen commanded, "you go back to the cliff where you grabbed Grycov's brat and you get me Riddick's body."

There was an exclamation of surprise on the other end, then the start of a protest that Steinen cut short, "I don't care how you get it. I don't care it you have to pry it off the rocks in pieces. You just get that body and bring it to me yesterday." Joshua felt a flutter of panic. Daria said Richard had landed right on her doorstep… If Captain Cuddian found the cave, if he searched…

Joshua offered a brief heart felt prayer. They had created a mocked cave-in to block the cave for just such a purpose as patrols were occasionally sent down the valley, but Daria disliked its awkwardness and protested Josh's insistence that she have it in place anytime she was not actively using the tunnel, and there was no way he'd have time to warn her… then he heard Cuddian respond, fear making the captain's voice sharp, and Steinen growled in frustrated fury, "Fine," the merc leader finally snapped, "but the minute you're finished you get that body and have it here by this afternoon or I'll have **you** thrown off the cliff! Do I make myself clear!" Joshua caught his breath. Perhaps he'd have time to warn her after all. Cuddian's affirmative was brief and Steinen punched the console off. Joshua wanted to shrink away from the hate and rage he saw in the merc leader's eyes, but said a second silent prayer and stood his ground. "Now, Jacobson," Steinen crooned maliciously, "I think you said you needed to see the Grycov girl."

"Yes," Joshua nodded, "I detected a dormant virus in her blood. If I treat her now it can eliminated before she becomes infectious."

"Very well," Steinen smiled. It was not a friendly smile, "you do that, and you make sure she's in perfect health because that girl is going to serve my purpose one way or another." A chill went down Joshua's spine. They were too close. They couldn't risk everything for a girl, and yet Joshua's heart wouldn't let him consider forsaking her. He could not let another girl becoming one of Steinen's playthings. As he turned to leave he prayed again, fervently asking God for wisdom, and in his thoughts he heard a name. Richard Riddick. The certainty of it was so profound that Joshua nearly stumbled. Just who was this young man that two of the most powerful mercenary guild owners in the galaxy knew him by name? And why was that name familiar? The accident yesterday afternoon had prevented him from doing the research he desired, but God willing, he would find the time today. It was a lapse of memory the doctor knew he must remedy as soon as possible.

A guard escorted Joshua to Steinen's personal floor. A sophisticated security system required a keycode to select Steinen's personal floor, and the guard, used to Joshua's passive indifference, didn't noticed the doctor's cautious watchfulness as he entered the code this time. Joshua then stood patiently, memorizing the keystrokes he had seen, as the lift rose. The doors opened to a lavishly decorated waiting area, and across the way stood a massive door with Steinen's guild mark on the surface in high relief. Joshua and his escort passed through the waiting room without pause, nor did they greet the two armed guards standing on either side of the door. Instead, his escort flashed a pass card and they were allowed to enter Steinen's personal residence. As Joshua's escort went through he let the heavy wooden door go and it came back at Joshua with startling speed forcing the doctor to throw his arm up to catch it. One of the ornate carvings impacted against his forearm causing the doctor to grunt in pain and surprise, and the guards on either side snickered. Steinen's disrespect for the doctor had proven communicable.

Doctor Joshua needed his escort but only for the keycodes, and as they passed through the private residence Joshua was taken back over a year in his memories. Steinen had awakened him in the middle of the night with an immediate summons, and Joshua had had no choice but respond. To this day Doctor Jacobson was not entirely certain why he had been called that night. To be sure the young girl he had come to know as Daria needed urgent medical attention, but Joshua was not sure why Steinen had bothered. The man had killed people before. Joshua had difficulty imagining Steinen troubled by a 13 year old girl dying of injuries the guild leader himself had inflicted, and yet something about the situation seemed to make Steinen strangely anxious. Did Steinen have some small portion of a heart somewhere after all? Joshua wasn't sure, for Steinen also forbid his doctor to call an ambulance or even take the girl to the hospital – perhaps even the great Fredrick Steinen was uncomfortable with the scandal that might arise from such an incident, or the influence it might give to the rebellion if it became publicly known - so the doctor had been forced to carry Daria's broken bleeding body to his own vehicle and transport her to the clinic.

Joshua did have a small surgical bay, vastly inferior to the hospital's, but that was where he spent the next 8 hours of his time, and it was a near thing. Joshua decided then and there that if the girl survived, which was questionable, he was not returning her to Steinen's possession. Thus, when her condition stabilized, the doctor hid her away in the tunnel beneath his clinic. Then, after many prayers, Joshua took what felt like the biggest risk of his life. He went to Steinen and lied through his teeth. He told Steinen the girl had died. The guild leader had not seemed surprised, although the information had brought a strange disquiet to his eyes. He had asked no questions, nor had he offered any funds or instruction for respectful disposal of the body. If the doctor had not had reason to despise Steinen already, that alone would have been sufficient. Joshua still had the shirt he'd worn as he carried Daria to his vehicle, spotted and blood stained, and he looked at it whenever he was tempted to be quit of Steinen. Another doctor might have let Daria die, or saved her and returned her to the guild leader. Another doctor might take Steinen's money and put it in his pocket instead of using it to help his poorer patients pay costs not covered by the authority of Steinen's physician. Serving Steinen was a means to an end allowing Joshua to help more people, but the doctor frequently prayed that his time under the guild leader's thumb would soon to be finite one way or another.

Joshua knocked as his escort unlocked the door, and opened it. "Miss Grycov?" the doctor asked pleasantly as he entered. There was a scramble of movement as she rolled off the bed so that it was between the doctor and herself. She stood in a panic, back against the wall, her eyes wide and terrified, then hesitated when she recognized him. "Why are you so frightened?" he asked with concern, "Has anyone hurt you?" His tone soothed her equally as much as the fact that the guard shut the door behind him leaving the two of them alone.

"No," she shook her head, the immediate fear in her eyes fading to a dull enduring shadow, "but it's only a matter of time isn't it?"

"That depends a great deal on your father…," Joshua answered truthfully, "and a few other things," he added off handedly glancing at the camera in the corner. Steinen was sure to be watching. "Your father's cooperation is conditional upon proof that your bodyguard, Richard Riddick, is indeed dead. Captain Cuddian has been sent to retrieve his body."

At his words Vanessa sagged, "He's dead. I saw him," she said tonelessly, "It's my fault, you know. I did this to myself. Riddick told me to stay against the wall, but I didn't listen. When the cliff crumbled he caught my hair, somehow managed to swing me back on the walkway, but he… " she sighed, "…he fell. If I'd listened I'd be on my way home by now. He'd already wiped out half the squad. The other half didn't have a chance until I went over the edge. Why didn't I listen?" It was clear that the girl regretted events on the walkway, but Joshua found himself puzzled. It sounded very much as if she only regretted Richard's death as it pertained to her capture. Could a life, the life of the man who had saved her's, mean so little to her? "So what are you here for?" her mood suddenly shifted, "Didn't get enough blood last time?"

"The amount was sufficient." Doctor Joshua answered, "It was what was in the blood that brings me back. You picked up a virus somewhere. I am here to treat it before it becomes infectious."

"I refuse," Vanessa snapped spitefully.

A humorless smile flickered across Joshua's face, "I'm sorry you feel that way. Refusal is not an option." He saw the rebellion rising in her eyes, "Now, you can accept my care like an intelligent young woman," the doctor offered evenly, an edge of threat in his voice, "or I can call a guard or three to secure your cooperation. Either way, you will be treated."

He saw her temper flare, her eyes flashing, then in a moment it was gone as his words drove home the utter powerlessness of her position. Even the "kindly" doctor was against her. An expression of plaintive despair crossed her features, then she let herself slide down the wall to slump in a heap. "It's hopeless," she muttered piteously, "I'm going to die here. My only hope was Riddick and now he's dead."

Joshua set his bag on the bed, and from its depths pulled a flexiglass cylinder, which he loaded into his hypo. He checked the settings to verify the contents and the dosage, then went to kneel by the troubled girl. When she made no move to resist him, he laid the hypo alongside her neck and the device infused the contents of the glass capsule directly into her bloodstream. "I don't think dying here is a concern at the moment. Mr. Steinen has indicated he wants to keep you healthy. That is why I am here," he said comfortingly.

"Are you naive, or just stupid?" she looked up and glared at him sullenly, "It's hopeless. You think Steinen's going to let me go if he can get my dad to do what he wants by holding me? And if dad won't deal…" her voice trailed off. It was clear that she believed that was a valid possibility, "…Steinen won't have a use for me," she finally whispered softly, her voice filled with dread. She ducked her head, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Joshua only felt an inkling of pity for the cold-hearted teenager. It seemed no part of her distress stemmed from the thought a man had given his life to save hers, but was devoted completely to her own misery. He wondered what she would do if he told her Richard was alive, but knew he couldn't, not with Steinen watching. And the doctor thought, not entirely unkindly, he wasn't sure Miss Grycov deserved to know even if she could be trusted with the information, which he questioned. He did know, however, that the girl was justifiably frightened and offered the only comfort he could, "When I feel things are beyond my control and I'm feeling overwhelmed, I pray. Would you like to pray with me now?"

"Pray?" she answered in surprise, "You mean, like, to God? OK, that confirms it; just stupid. I can't believe a doctor would believe in God. I thought doctors were supposed to be intelligent."

"And what would lead you to believe I'm not," Joshua asked halfway between amusement and irritation.

"Well, God is just some mythical crutch, isn't he?" she snorted scornfully, "Why would you want to believe in myths if you're so intelligent?"

"And what if He's not a myth?" Joshua retorted patiently, "Care to discuss that possibility?"

Vanessa gave it due thought, then answered with honest arrogance, "No. Religion is for wimps too scared to enjoy their lives and who want rules and boundaries so they don't have to think for themselves. I know what prudes you Christians are and I don't want to live like that. I want to do what I want, when I want, and enjoy my life."

"While you have it," Joshua added grimly, and the words had their desired effect as the shadow of fear returned to her eyes, "The rules God gives us serve a purpose, Vanessa. God doesn't stop us from doing things because he wants to spoil our fun, but rather because those behaviors can be harmful. He doesn't call things sin to make them bad. It is because they are bad that he calls them sin. He's trying to keep us safe, and at times like this," he gestured to the room around them indicating her captivity, "there is another benefit to believing. I have come to believe in God because I have seen what life can dish out. There is so much that is beyond our control, things occur that leave us helpless, simply waiting to see what will come because there is nothing we can do. That's when God has proven himself to me. The difference between our faiths is that you, having none, are left to rely on yourself. When you are powerless you have nowhere to turn; you feel hopeless."

"And I suppose you wouldn't if you were in my position," she snapped.

"No," he shook his head with a smile, "I might be frightened -I think it would be hard not to be - but when I find myself in situations beyond my control, I am reassured knowing they are not beyond God's. And when I find myself powerless, unable to do a thing to help myself, I still have hope, for when I recognize there is nothing I can do, I have opened the door for a miracle." He stood and went back to his bag. Reaching inside he pulled out a thick paper book, "Here you go, some good, old fashion, low tech reading material. I always carry one of these in my bag just in case someone needs it," he laid it on the bed, "I'll have to order more; you're getting my last copy, but perhaps, if you get bored, it will give you something to do." He closed his bag and walked to the door, rapping on it sharply with his knuckles. "I'll be back in a day or three to give you a booster injection. Perhaps we'll have more to talk about then."

"Don't count on it," Vanessa muttered as she flounced her way over to the bed, and as Joshua exited she picked up the book, looking it over critically.

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Steinen watched the screen as the girl thumbed through the book Jacobson had left with her. He had no doubt it was a Bible. Some time ago the simple-minded doctor had tried to give him one too, leaving it in the war room after a summons. Steinen had glanced through it out of curiosity, not that he was going to let the doctor or anyone else know. The religious book recorded the history of some ancient tribe of people in Earth Prime history and their Messiah. There were some good gory tales in the Old Testament part, and when God was acting to punish or protect his people he'd do any merc unit proud, wiping out whole armies in a single night, but Steinen couldn't help but think the guy was a bit of a wuss. If the tales in the book were to be believed, the big schmuck would beg and plead with his thick-headed people for centuries before he'd finally send in some army to whip their sorry butts into line, and then some 100 or so years later He'd have do it all over again.

It got even worse when Steinen hit the New Testament. All of a sudden God wasn't trying to save just His little scrap of people, He was out for the whole human race! One of the verses from the book erupted in his thoughts; '_For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth. For there is one God and one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus, who gave Himself a ransom__for all(__2_.' Steinen growled and shoved the verse from his mind as he glanced at the crucifixion painting on the wall. Like a man would willingly do that for anyone. Love, patience, forgiveness... it was enough to make a good merc sick! Steinen had finally thrown the book in the recycler. It just wasn't believable. The God-dude was just too damn patient. People didn't love others like that, not if they were working with a full set of I.Q. points, they certainly didn't deserve second chances to betray you, and you didn't forgive the bastards that killed you.

Steinen figured it was only a matter of time before this religion eliminated itself completely. It's population was full of hypocrites and wimps as it was; either people who said one thing and did another, or people like Jacobson who rolled over in the name of their precious savior and let people walk all over them. The stupid sap was so caught up in his 'God is in control' religion that he'd actively refused to get involved in the resistance the way his wife had, and hadn't even figured out that his wife had been killed on Steinen's orders. He quickly buried that thought, quick and deep, and focused on the girl in the room. Vanessa Grycov had opened the bible, and for a moment Steinen thought she was going to read it, then she carefully tore a page from the middle and began folding it into a paper aircraft. As she sent it sailing across the room Steinen laughed out loud, startling the guard at the door. Score one for the other side. Well, Jacobson had told her he'd hoped the antiquated paper book would give her something to do.

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**-oOo-**

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**CARE TO LOOK THEM UP? Here's the Bible references used in this chapter:**

1) John 19:30

2) 1 Timothy 2:5-6


	13. Chapter 13: Bad News

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**WRITER'S NOTE:** FanFiction's formatting is limited, so when you get to the Galaxy News Archive section, I invite you to imagine, if you care, colors, shaded boxes around the "touch here" statements, fancier lines and rulers between the sections, and whatever fonts you think would make it look futuristic and cool :o)

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**Chapter 13**

**Bad News**

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Maybe, just maybe, he would finally have time to research the name jingling in the back of his brain Doctor Jacobson thought as he updated the file of the last individual he'd seen. He'd made contact with Daria by private channel as soon as he reached the clinic. When she reported Richard was stirring in his sleep and confirmed she had set up the cave-in when she went to collect the shield generator, Joshua breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God for small favors. The time was fast approaching when he would need God's favors more than ever, small and large, and he prayed the good Lord was going to grant another on right now. "Any more patients, Gloria?"

"No, Doctor," the large woman behind the desk grinned, "Is this a miracle?"

"More like an answer to prayer," Joshua rejoined gladly. Gloria was his office manager/ secretary/ assistant/ nurse, and had been with him ever since his wife had been killed four and a half years ago. She had been one of Sarah's best friends, and had become one of his over the years. She wasn't a doctor as Sarah had been, but he had come to depend on her for a great many things, and could not run the clinic without her. "Unless it's an emergency," he said hopefully, "I would prefer not to see anyone else today. I need to do some research in my office, and then, God willing, I'll need to work on my mushrooms."

Mention of the mushrooms had a double meaning Gloria knew full well. The mushrooms were a legitimate hobby of the doctor's ever since he found the little article in a medical journal a good many years ago about a species of mushrooms that seemed to have antibiotic properties. He had obtained the research mentioned in that article, and set up a successful habitat with a dedicated lab in an empty room next to his main lab below the clinic. His efforts had advanced the study and the antibiotic properties of the mushrooms significantly, and they had proven a true God-send for Doctor Joshua as many of his patients couldn't afford even basic medicines. But there was an old door behind a curtain in the 'Shroom Room lab that appeared to be locked and rusted shut. A cave-in appeared to fill most the room beyond its filthy perma-glass portal, but to one with the right knowledge there were secrets beyond that ancient doorway. Daria was one of those secrets. Gloria had been a critical and welcome accomplice in Joshua's conspiracy to save the girl, and she understood now that the Doctor intended to see Daria now, "Can you hold the outpost?" he asked meaningfully.

"No problem," she smiled broadly, and Joshua knew she meant it. Short of surgery, there wasn't much this woman couldn't handle.

In the break room of his clinic, Doctor Joshua reached into a cabinet, and pulled out a container at random. His mind wasn't really on the flavors' of soup. He turned it over without looking at the label and crushed the small capsule beneath the semi rigid seal on the bottom. There was a faint muffled hiss at the chemical released reacted with the fluid in the hollow sides of the insulated cup, and he shook it to mix them before setting the container on the counter. Self-heating soup was one of the few luxuries he allowed himself because he never knew when or how long his meals would be. From the cold box he grabbed a can of fruit flavored tea, then collected his soup and walked to the small room that passed for his office and locked the door behind him. "Computer, open an anonymous log on. Pass code: Achish(1)." he commanded as he set his meal on the desk and sat down.

The command initiated a sub routine buried deep in the computer's files that reached out through the communication grid and clandestinely tapped random public terminals to make its connections. The program was patently illegal, especially under Steinen's rule. Joshua wasn't entirely sure how it worked, another resistance member set it up, but it was indispensable for communication and research that might raise red flags on the watchdog programs, as this search just might. As the computer flashed through the sequence, Joshua pulled the top off his soup and was greeted by lazy steamy curls wafting up from the opening carrying the scent of spiced Carsadian fish bisque. He sipped on it absently until the terminal chirped indicating a successful connection and then he got down to the business at hand.

"Pull up Galaxy New Archives," Joshua commanded. He was restless. The name Riddick had tickled a memory, but Richard Riddick rang bells. He had heard that name before... somewhere… "Search archive for news service articles," the voice sensitive system dutifully made the appropriate selections as if Joshua had typed them by hand, "search for the name Richard Riddick."

"Searching Galaxy News Archives for news service articles containing the name Richard Riddick," the terminal confirmed in a professional, if cheerless, voice, "This search service is provided for you courtesy of Earratist Mountain Extreme Ski Tours, where we go to any height to give you the ultimate downhill thrill." There was a pause, then the computer announced, "362 news service articles found containing the name Richard Riddick. Articles found in conjunction with five main topics. Would you like articles sorted by these topics?"

"Yes," the doctor commanded.

A moment later the screen flashed, displaying an abridged article for each of the five categories. At the end of each article Joshua had the option to see the article in its entirety or to see summaries of all the other articles in the category. The first topic was unfamiliar, but as he scrolled down to look over the others he set his soup aside to focus more intently on what he was seeing. Then, as he began to read the articles themselves, his soup was forgotten altogether.

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**Galaxy News Archives**

**If it made the news, anywhere, we can access it for you**

**Your source for news past and present**

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Select type: **news service** - Limits to the first printing; eliminates articles with identical text.

Enter text: **Richard Riddick** - Input search text or topic here

**(To start search touch here)**

**Searching**... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..

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**This search brought to you courtesy of:**

**Earratist Mountain Extreme Ski Tours:** Touch here to learn more

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**362** matches for **"Richard Riddick"** found among news service articles. Articles found in conjunction with 5 main topics. Sort by topic for your convenience? **(YES)** NO

Sorting... ... ... ... ... .

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_The following summary is a randomly selected representative of the 16 news service articles found concerning:  
**"Richard Riddick"**__and __**"RECCooP"**_

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**Judge Advocates Continuation of RECC****oo****P - Says "It Works!"**

Galaxy Press Service (News Service)

There were some who had concerns about RECCooP, but as the program turns five years old the initial reports look promising. … When RECCooP advocate Judge Peter Nachman was asked if he could provide an example of a RECCooP success story, the judge nodded enthusiastically, "Oh yes, in fact I just received word from the Raspin Grycov about a young man I partnered with his mercenary guild three years ago. _**Richard Riddick**_ was only 15 when I was asked to authorize his transfer to an adult penitentiary. … Raspin Grycov agreed to take that chance with me and it paid off; _**Richard**_ not only chose to stay on with the Grycov Mercenary Guild when his RECCooP term was served, but was offered enlistment as an Elite Company Ranger, the youngest to ever hold such a position, and he has accepted a post to the Sigma 3 system." … "In the most succinct terms," Judge Nachman said, "RECCooP is working and we would be fools to even consider dismantling it."

**(To read entire article touch here) (To see all **16** articles touch here)**

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_The following summary is a randomly selected representative of the 84 news service articles found concerning:  
**"Richard Riddick"** and **"murder"**_

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**Nearly 500 Men Murdered At Sigma 3 Outpost**

Sigma Syndicated Press (News Service)

"It has to be one of the most disturbing crimes I have ever investigated" one investigator is quoted as saying, "That one man could kill so many of his comrades, and it was planned; to the last detail it was planned." … After two years of recounting his favorite RECCooP success story about _**Richard Riddick**_, Judge Peter Nachman now finds himself facing hard questions. _**Riddick**_ was a 15 year old youth with a long history of violence when Judge Nachman placed him with the Grycov Mercenary Guild through RECCooP, …_**Riddick**_ seemed to flourish becoming the guild's youngest Elite Company Ranger at the age of 18, and being promoted less than a year later to Sigma 3 System's Strikeforce Academy, but sometime after his graduation something went horrifically wrong. … _**Riddick**_ is now accused of killing 489 men, the entire compliment of the mercenary company stationed with him at the Sigma 3 outpost. … At Raspin Grycov's recommendation _**Richard Riddick**_ is currently being held in Deep Storage at an undisclosed maximum-security cryo-detention center until his trial to eliminate any possibility of this deadly Ranger's escape.

**(To read entire article touch here) (To see all **84** articles touch here)**

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_The following summary is a randomly selected representative of the 86 news service articles found concerning:  
**"Richard Riddick"**and **"trial"**_

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**Savior or Psycho?**

Independent Interplanetary Network (News Service)

Due to the extraordinary efforts and financial stimulus of Raspin Grycov, the owner of the Sigma 3 Mercenary company, the trial of _**Richard Riddick**_, the man accused of killing his entire company of almost 500 men, has suffered none of the usual holdups. **… **"_**Richard Riddick**_must pay for what he's done without delay," said Grycov. Judge Peter Nachman, however, when asked to comment about _**Riddick's**_ fall from grace was quoted to say, "It is horrendous, unforgivable, but there is more to _**Richard's**_ act then we are being told." Judge Nachman retains copies of _**Riddick's**_ legal records and claims to have reviewed them many times over the years. When asked if _**Riddick**_ was capable of such an atrocity, Nachman answered, "Under the right circumstances, I fear he might be, but I also can tell you this; if _**Richard Riddick**_ did this, there was a reason. **…"**

This is a telling statement considering the bench's refusal to let _**Riddick **_testify on his own behalf, citing lack of evidence. An anonymous source inside the system has suggested that _**Riddick**_ would claim the Sigma 3 mercenary company was breaking code and accepting contracts to loot and kill civilian colonies and that he acted to prevent the destruction of yet another. **…** The prosecution has provided a plethora of evidence including past associates and physiological experts to make their case against _**Riddick**_. **…** "Yeah, _**Riddick **_likes ta kill things," said Terac Sims, a past associate, "_**Riddick**_ 'specially likes knives; he likes ta cut things, ta watch 'em bleed, but he'll use anything he can get his hand on. The _**Riddick**_man is certifiable." **…** Dr Delcor Ammek of the Prison's Psychological Board testified, "Prison psychological evaluations indicate _**Richard Riddick**_ is a violent sociopath with primitive fight or flight responses, completely capable of taking life on a mass scale for real or imagined reasons." **…** While this reporter is not completely sure of _**Riddick's**_ motive, in truth it has little bearing on the case; the man is clearly too dangerous for society.

**(To read entire article touch here) (To see all **86** articles touch here)**

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_The following summary is a randomly selected representative of the 91 news service articles found concerning:  
**"Richard Riddick"**and **"sentencing"**_

**●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●**

**Mass Murderer Sentenced**

United Interplanetary Press (News Service)

What many were calling the Saga of the 'Big Evil' is over. The trial of mass murderer _**Richard Riddick**_ concluded with sentencing after the jury deliberated for a record minimum of 15 minutes. _**Riddick**_ was charged with the murder the 489 mercenary comrades stationed with him on Sigma 3, … _**Richard Riddick**_ stood in full shackle, remorseless and unmoved, as the jury read their final judgment – Guilty on all counts. … The judge in this case requested and received creative privilege regarding the sentencing of _**Richard Riddick**_, choosing to drive home the sheer magnitude of _**Riddick's**_ crime by giving the mass murderer a single life sentence of 10,000 years, based on a conservative estimate of the total number of years he deprived his Sigma 3 brothers of. This sentence also ensures the long-term safety of society as _**Riddick**_ would not be considered eligible for parole until he has served at least 25 of this sentence. … Due to the violent nature of the crime and the potential level of violence toward and by _**Riddick**_, the murderer was moved out prematurely under cover of night and loaded, under maximum security, on a prison transport bound for the Tangiers Penal Colony before the verdict was made public.

**(To read entire article touch here) (To see all **91** articles touch here)**

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_The following summary is a randomly selected representative of the 87 news service articles found concerning:  
**"Richard Riddick"** and **"escape"**_

**●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●**

**Mass Murderer Escapes / Guild Offers Record Bounty**

Universal Syndicated Press (News Service)

The 'Saga of the Big Evil' starts anew. Sentenced to Tangiers Penal Colony less than three years ago for the murder of 500 mercenary comrades stationed with him at the Grycov Mercenary Guild's outpost on Sigma 3, _**Richard Riddick**_ has escaped. Initial reports indicate that _**Riddick **_overpowered a guard, took his uniform, and passed through several checkpoints before his absence was noted in the cellblock. After a prison wide lock down was initiated, _**Riddick**_ somehow managed to circumvent the newly upgraded locks on several levels, and then the flight deck. Once there he is reported to have shot 2 guards and a pilot before escaping in the prison planet's only freighter. … Upon receiving the report of _**Riddick's**_ escape, Raspin Grycov, owner of the Grycov Mercenary Guild, immediately issued a bounty for an unheard of one million credits. "It is a matter of justice for the company of Sigma 3, "Grycov explained as he announced the incredible sum, "_**Richard Riddick**_ must not be allowed to rest until he is back in prison or in a grave like the rest of his comrades." … It should be noted that due to _**Riddick's**_ extreme violent nature and skills, civilians should not consider involving themselves directly in his capture. If you think you have seen _**Richard Riddick**_, leave the scene immediately and call law enforcement from a safe location.

**(To read entire article touch here) (To see all **87** articles touch here)**

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**This search was brought to you courtesy of:**

**Earratist Mountain Extreme Ski Tours:** Touch here to learn more.

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Joshua terminated the connection and stood up leaving his cold soup and warm drink sitting untouched by the computer. "Gloria," he called up the hall sharply, "I need to be downstairs for awhile," and he was gone before she could answer. Gloria looked up from her terminal wondering what about the doctor's research would make him so agitated. She knew when the time was right he would tell her, but for now the only aid she could offer him was prayer, so she bowed her head and asked, as she asked so often, that God would protect Joshua Jacobson and give him wisdom.

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**CARE TO LOOK THEM UP? Here's the Bible references used in this chapter:**

1) This story starts with 1 Samuel 21:10


	14. Chapter 14: Faith and Trust

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 14**

**Faith & Trust**

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"It's me, Joshua," Doc Josh called cautiously, just in case, from just outside the doorway of Daria's 'apartment.'

"Hi ya, Doc," Riddick was grinning as he materialized smoothly from the shadows looking astonishingly strong and stable for a man who, to the best of Joshua's knowledge, had been comatose last night. Joshua suspected a portion of the young man's airs were bravado, but it was certainly an improvement over his last visit, both in patient condition and welcoming technique. He wanted to be pleased, the young man's recovery was phenomenal, but his recent findings lay heavy on his mind.

"Mr. Riddick, I'm glad you're feeling better," Joshua nodded curtly as he entered. He hesitated, watching sidelong as the young man's grin faltered and died, then the convict's face hardened. Joshua turned away and kept walking.

"So it's Mr. Riddick now," Riddick said ominously as he watched the doctor walk down the hall not failing to note that the man had knowingly given him his back. Whatever it was, and he suspected he knew, he had learned something else about Joshua Jacobson – the man trusted way too much.

He followed the doctor listening as Doc Josh greeted Daria. The Doc's voice was cheerful, but even Riddick could tell it was forced. Was the girl perceptive enough to pick it up? As Riddick entered he saw Jacobson holding Daria's hands companionably in his own, a gesture as intimate as any heart felt hug in Daria's case, but she looked passed the doctor to meet Riddick's eyes and was unsettled by his impassive expression. "See, I told you it was Doc Josh," she exclaimed, but her eyes begged something else, "What's going on?" they pleaded searching for reassurance in his face, but Riddick had none to offer.

"Bertam is having problems with his weight scale again," the Doctor told Daria, "Why don't you pack things up here and go take a look at it. He said if you can fix it he'll give you first pick of the circuits he just got in."

Daria looked at the Doc, then to Riddick and back again. "Bertam is our local recycler," the doctor explained trying to be casual, but the tension was evident on his face, "Daria also does repairs for some of the merchants. They pay her with cash, food, parts, pieces, whatever they have. She uses the parts and pieces to make complete units, and we have a friend who sells them for us."

He turned back to Daria, "Why don't you go have a look." She was hesitant, but the look on the doctor's face did not invite discussion. Doc Josh helped her pack up her tools then carry the shield generator's work surface down the hall. The board was carefully slid into one of a number of cubbies lining one side of the hall where Daria kept current projects and her spare parts, then the doctor saw her to the doorway. "Go on, I'll keep Mr. Riddick company," the doctor promised. Daria hesitated, looking back at Riddick, but he jutted his chin toward the door indicating she should go. Her being here for this discussion wasn't a good idea. Outnumbered, she obeyed.

Joshua stood in the doorway long enough to ensure Daria was gone, then turned back. Richard stood at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed watching Joshua coldly. The doctor felt a chill go down his spine as he recalled the young man's hand on the back of his neck. This task was no less dangerous than going to Steinen to lie about Daria, and Joshua had prayed every step of the way toward that undertaking as well. Even so he found himself praying again as he took a deep breath and exhaled.

Christ's promise from the book of Hebrews fluttered through the doctor's mind like a blanket caught in the wind, '_I will never leave you nor forsake you._' Joshua caught onto it and wrapped the verse around his thoughts continuing, '_The LORD is my helper; I will not fear. What can man do to me?(**1**)_' pulling courage from it.

The worst Richard could do was kill him. Then again, it was not death he feared so much as the manner of it, and what would happen to those he would be leaving behind. Joshua knew he should trust the Lord to have all that worked out, but he couldn't help but worry. They were so close, and who would look out for Daria? _Distracting thoughts,_ the doctor chastised himself, _that have no place in this moment_, and he pushed them away.

"We need to talk," Joshua met Richard's eye, then he walked past into the 'kitchen.' "Something to drink?" he asked out of courtesy, glancing at their disquieting houseguest. The young man's eyes had not left him, did not leave him, even as he shook his newly shaved head. Although his own mouth was dry, Joshua did not bother with a drink for himself either. His stomach would not appreciate it at the moment. Joshua knew what his heart told him, but it warred with his good sense, especially as he reached into a cabinet and withdrew the talon shaped knife Daria had found on the rocks beside the young man. Daria had said the blood on the blade was fresh when she first found it, but it had since dried dark and hard. The Doctor didn't have to ask if it was Richard's knife. He would have known even if he hadn't seen Steinen brandishing its twin for the leather harness that Richard had been wearing was designed to hold two of such weapons. He shook his head, glad for the one missing. The single blade looked quite deadly enough by itself. He carried it to the table reluctantly and as he sat down he saw Richard was still watching him, a new and perilous light in the youthful convict's eyes.

Riddick didn't bother moving as the Jacobson walked by. He wasn't feeling 100 percent yet, but he was confident there was nothing this man could do that he couldn't stop, with extreme prejudice if necessary. He couldn't be sure what the Doc had in mind, but he thought he knew. It wasn't just the Doc's form of address. Riddick had smelled it the moment the doctor walked past him. Jacobson had a rough woodsy scent overlaid by the cologne he wore and the disinfectants he hung out with, but there was an undertone of controlled fear on him today. The man's heart was probably beating double time. The Doc asked if Riddick wanted something to drink, and when he'd said no, Doc Josh had skipped too. Riddick knew why. If Jacobson drank anything right now, the convict thought with a smirk, the man'd just as likely puke it back up. But when Jacobson reached into a cabinet and pulled out one of Riddick's shivs, the young man's eyes narrowed. Things had just got interesting.

The doctor carried the shiv to the table as if it weighed a great deal, then just sat down and stared at the thing. Riddick could tell the blood on the blade bothered the doctor. Bothered him too. Not good to leave blood on a good forged blade. Did things to the metal. Finally the doctor broke the silence that had settled upon them, "You've killed a few people haven't you, Mr. Riddick?" It was said quietly, more statement than question, but there was a note in it that hoped Riddick could deny it.

Riddick snorted derisively, knowing the Doctor's understatement deliberate, and he wasn't going to play those games. If Jacobson was going to come asking about the truth Riddick wasn't going to make it sound nice. "I've killed _lots_ of people, Jacobson," he corrected coldly, "broke necks, slit throats, arranged 'accidents'… It's what I was trained to do."

Joshua glanced at the young man who remained leaning against the wall; every line of Richard's frame was relaxed and casual while his deep voice carried a soft threat of death like the distant thunder of an approaching avalanche. 'You don't want to know,' his tone promised. All trace of his previous openness was gone as if it had never been. The convict's face was hard as his eyes glittered dangerously, no hint of emotion in them. The doctor dropped his gaze back down to the bloodstained knife and quietly set it on the table in front of him. The truth was what he was after, but he hadn't expected it to be delivered so bluntly, "489 'accidents'?" he asked hoping somehow what he read was wrong.

"And more besides," Riddick answered remorselessly, "'though not all for the same reason." He saw the doctor flinch as if he'd been struck, "but those you mentioned; weren't none of them _accidents_. Environmental sabotage, toxins in the air and food in the chow hall, lots of one on one, but _none_ of them were _accidents_," Riddick added with malicious honesty indicating his first hand involvement in the deaths of 489 men. The doctor flinched again and the sheen of his face seemed dull. Riddick suspected that if the man's skin weren't so dark, he'd be ashen, and eyed the shiv on the table.

Stupid move bringing a shiv to the table for _this_ conversation. His mind was already plotting the action. A single easy movement… a quick step, hand closing over the hilt, a single upward slash, another throat cut – the throat of the man who had saved his life, the throat of the man who could destroy this chance he had to start over, the throat of the man who had who had saved Daria... whose sobs he still heard when he closed his eyes. Daria. He still needed her. A cut throat would be too much mess to clean up. New plan. A quick step behind the doctor, two hands, grab the chin for leverage, break his neck and lose the body outside in the rocks. The plan was doable, even easy, and yet Riddick didn't move.

"Why?" the doctor asked with quiet deliberation.

That took Riddick by surprise. "Why?" he repeated in a bitter snarl. He moved then, storming the table in a single step to lean down invading the doctor's space, one hand on either end of the bloody blade, "Because I'm a shiv-happy psychopath," he rumbled low and dangerous, "didn't you read that while you were lookin' up Mr. Riddick, Richard B?"

The doctor nodded faintly, refusing to look up and meet Riddick's eyes but stared at the muscled hand bare inches from the talon knife's handle, "But there was another man; the judge who placed you with the mercenaries, Peter Nachman,…" It was Riddick's turn to flinch, a glance away, a slight turning of his head, "…he said there would be a reason. He said you didn't do things without reason."

Riddick closed his eyes and sighed. He had tried hard to blame the judge for what happened, but the truth was the man had done right by him. Placing him with Grycov's Mercs _had_ been a good move – gave him the best three years of his life. For the first time he had felt like he could almost fit in, felt like he might have found a place he could stay. If he hadn't accepted the posting to Sigma 3... if he hadn't gone to Strikeforce... But he did, and he had. "And if I had a reason," Riddick asked, his demeanor subtly changed, "would that make it right?"

"No," the doctor answered softly, "but it might make it understandable."

"Why would you believe me?" the young convict growled, "No one else would."

"Firstly, because I want to," Joshua answered slowly. "My faith believes there is hope for every man, and I can't believe a man could be so evil as to kill 489 of his colleagues for his own pleasure. If you are such a man, then I may have committed the gravest error of my life in saving yours," he glanced up briefly and saw an incredulous scorn building in the young convict's eyes that he would base his willingness to believe on such a purely emotional argument, but that was not the sole reason. "Secondly, I know the girl you were with is Vanessa Grycov, whose father is the owner of the mercenary company you..." The doctor stopped abruptly, then took a deep breath before continuing, "... you killed. I saw her shortly after she was captured, and she was desperate to believe that you had survived and would be coming back for her. That attitude is not consistent with a girl being taken by a kidnapper, but it is for a girl traveling with a bodyguard, and that is what Captain Cuddian called you. Finally, if you were acting as Vanessa Grycov's bodyguard, then Raspin Grycov himself stands witness for you. A man would not trust the safety of his daughter to a convicted psychotic killer unless Judge Nachman truly had the right of it…" he looked up and met the young man's eyes, "there _was_ more to your deed than was being admitted."

Riddick stared at the doctor, and for the first time the doctor did not look away.

"I had reason." Riddick stated without his previous arrogance, and when the doctor continued to look at him expectantly, Riddick continued. "You heard of the Wailing Wars?"

"Not in detail," the doc shook his head.

Joshua wasn't sure what to expect, but when the young man finally hooked the other chair with his foot and maneuvered it into position, Joshua suspected he was about to hear something few other people had. Richard settled in across from the doctor with brooding grace. His elbows were on the table, his hands remaining mere inches from the strange knife Joshua had laid down, but somehow the doctor no longer felt threatened.

"Two sides, one sector. Both thought they should own the whole thing, and were willing to do most anything to get it," Riddick began his tale with reluctance, "Lotta merc units hired out fer that one. Sigma 3 Company, the one I was stationed with, wasn't one of them, not officially, but that didn't stop them from cashin' in on the action. Nasty war." he muttered grimly, "Bloody. Lot of colonist stuck in the middle – both sides. Heard someone say it was called the Wailing Wars for all the people left grievin'. Don't know if that was true, but there were plenty." He paused, a flicker of some emotion touching his dark eyes. "Lot more than there needed ta be," he added. "Sigma 3 Company wasn't there fer the war. Grycov had a station in the Sigma 3 system; a training academy on one of the moons, and a long term contract protectin' Sigma 3's natural resources," his sarcasm was heavy, making it clear they were only protecting the resource collection operations of their employers from others rather than acting in any way to preserve the planet's environment.

"I worked the dirt for nearly a year then got promoted upstairs," Riddick recalled, "went to the academy. After I graduated they sent me back down to enforce security," his inflection gave the last two words new meaning as well. "Curious though, how orders required occasional holes big enough to fly ships through," he supplied as an aside, the doctor's first clue that Sigma 3 Company wasn't playing on the level. The young man continued, "Enforcement wasn't a pretty job... think slavery... but compared to what else they were doing, it was cake." Riddick went quiet as he reflected back. Remembering was something he didn't like to do, for many reasons, but the doctor was patient. "Guild don't care if a company does a little moonlighting so long as it gets its cut," the convict finally resumed, "and so long as it don't do the guild's rep no harm. Rep's a big thing to Grycov," he added bitterly.

"As mercenaries go," Joshua commented, "his guild is considered among the more honorable."

"That ain't saying much." Riddick growled, "Ain't saying much at all. Grycov don't have much honor of his own, but honor sells and he's all business."

"And you were in a position to learn this," the doctor predicted.

"First hand," the young convict answered flatly. "Sigma 3's Company had been getting aggravated. They were stationed closer to the war than any other post, and they didn't like that all these other units were getting' paid the big bucks to fight while they had to sit on their hands and guard a dirt ball. Then one side of the war approached them quiet offering high pay if Sigma 3'd augment a small E-TAC troop they were sendin' on the sly. They'd supply the suits, the hardware, the weapons, if Sigma 3'd provide the mercs to fill them. This was a job even Steinen wouldn't touch... up front anyways." Riddick stared at hands a moment, "Sigma 3 Co figured since they were goin' to be wearing somebody else's clothes, if they took it under the table they wouldn't have to pay guild fees and Grycov would never know."

The young man shook his head, "Hate to disappoint you, Doc, but my kind of evil ain't the worse there is out there. This little war council that hired Sigma 3 was core evil, but at least they had an agenda. They figured if they kept the war going long enough, their side could take the whole sector. Sigma 3 Company threw right in there with them for no call but greed. My understandin' is Sigma started going sour before the wars, but even so I'm sure there was still some that objected at first, but they were culled out quick and hard – 'accidents', 'illness', that sort of stuff. By the time I got there the whole company was dirty. Didn't know it right off, but figured it pretty quick. I had learned what they had to teach me and I was good at it. Most the other graduates were dispersed out to other units, but they figured with my history as a hard core juvie-dee inclined ta violence, their kind of sly work was right up my alley so they kept me on at Sigma 3."

"What kind of 'sly work' were you expected to do?" Joshua asked hesitantly.

"Take out civilians," the young man said brusquely, "What's more, it was their own colonies this little war council was setting up for targets." The doctor's eyes grew wide. "Long wars wear a people down. When the war council thought people were getting restless, thinking about peace, they'd take Sigma 3 in mocked up like the other side to make an 'unprovoked attack' on a civilian colony they considered expendable or troublesome. War council'd be happy when the slaughter of an innocent colony perked folks up, kept their blood boiling and Sigma 3 Co was happy to get a fee they didn't have to share. On occasion they even managed to come up with some untraceable salvage besides."

"Entire colonies?" the doctor whispered, "men, women, children?"

"Entire colonies," Riddick confirmed, "Men. Women. Kids."

"Did you participate?" Joshua asked quietly.

"Yeah," the young man answered plainly, but his dark eyes were suddenly filled with revulsion and disgust, "yeah, I did." The big knife on the table remained untouched, but from somewhere below the table, a boot perhaps, a smaller one appeared in his hands. It was straight, double edged, but Richard seemed almost unaware of its presence as he began to twiddle with the sharpened blade distractedly the way someone else might twiddle with a stylus or a piece of silverware. "They pulled me from my enforcement duties sayin' I was going on a special ops assignment. The eight other academy graduates they'd kept on at Sigma 3 came with and I had already started wondering cause it seemed they'd kept the moral dregs of the class. En route to our target I was comin' down the hall and passed an air duct. Funny how sound travels when you least want it to. Commander and troop masters were meeting somewheres, divvyin' up the cadets, and I could hear them talking so I stayed and listened. They talked about watching the probies for scruples. Didn't understand till later."

Riddick closed his eyes briefly recalling the fateful attack that had set him on this path, "It was my first combat outside field training. I went down high on half truths and killed anything that moved. Met resistance, but not much. Wasn't till it was over I realized that they were civilians. I hadn't run into any kids, but some of the other cadets had. Nine of us went down. Four went back up alive and it wasn't the colonist that took out the ones what died. They called it initiation and when we got back I had to sign off on a couple 'security accidents.' Sure the others had to do similar. Insurance. Some 5 months later we did it again, then we did one for the other side." Riddick laughed, but it was a dark humorless sound, "Murderin' their own folk was an idea so damn twisted, neither side could imagine the other'd even think of it, and Sigma 3 Co wasn't about to tell them it was playin' both ends for the middle, so the war kept on."

"Isn't there a code among mercenaries that you can't work for both sides of a conflict?" Joshua murmured, shaken by what he had heard, for that code also restricted mercs to military targets in a war unless there were extenuating circumstances such as civilians housing munitions or providing cover for troops. Prolonging the conflict certainly did not qualify.

Riddick shook his head. "Code had nothing to do with this. Merc's true creed is greed and Sigma 3 took it further than most." The young convict sighed, "I never did kill any kids, made sure of it, but I saw others do it. Watched women die trying to help their men, moms and dads tryin' to protect their kids. I watched kids tryin' ta pick up dad's gun to protect moms and sibs. On that last one I saw a boy, couldn't have been more than seven, trying to protect his mom and sister. He took three slugs before he went down and stayed. I couldn't stomach any more. Man can only take so much before something in him's gotta change, somethin's gotta die. I couldn't do that."

"Don't get me wrong," Riddick clarified, "I got no problem ghosting a woman, providing she's intent on doin' the same ta me, or thinks she's taking me back ta slam, but these folk had no real part in the war save they lived on one side or the other, maybe some had kin serving. They were just reasons to keep fighting. I knew if I said anything I'd just get culled, so I started working a sly of my own. I contacted Grycov, started collecting intel for him. We were going to hang Sigma 3 Company out to dry before anyone else got killed." Riddick fell silent, his thoughts caught up in the repulsive memories so recently dredged from the depths of forgetfulness.

Doctor Joshua was surprised to see an expression almost like pain on the young convict's face. "Then what happened?" he encouraged, pulling the young man back to the here and now.

"Peace," Riddick answered, "The war council got overruled and both sides decided they were tired of dyin'. Called a ceasefire, started talking treaties. Things were real shaky, but it looked like both sides were serious this time. Sigma 3 Company was furious. They hadn't been pulled in till later, and didn't feel like they'd gotten a chance to earn their fair share so they started making plans of their own. Carawa Colony was a quiet place. Some 300 families settled there, and they had taken in who knows how many refugees. Nickname was Haven. Sigma 3 Co decided they were going to mock up and take it out. They knew a place like Haven falling unprovoked would jumpstart the war machine with a vengeance. I informed Grycov of the plans, and he ordered me to go cold. I told him he needed to do something. I told him if he didn't, I would," the young convict stated grimly. "Well, he didn't. Turns out that Carawa was going to be his final bit of evidence. Stuff I had for him was mostly circumstantial; Sigma 3'd done a decent job of covering their tracks, but if Grycov could catch'em killin' civilians, it would nail Sigma 3's coffin shut. The lives of a lot of colonists Grycov didn't know were cheap next to the credits he'd have to shell out for almost 500 prolonged trials. Then I went and made it easy for him."

"Couldn't you have just disabled the ships or something like that?" the doctor asked.

"Could have." Riddick answered honestly, "Coulda done a lot of things, but any of them woulda tipped my hand, then I'd be the one dead and Carawa would have been attacked a little later than sooner." The young man shook his head, "Believe me, I considered all the particulars, but if Grycov wasn't going to step in I only had two choices; go cold like he told me or stop 'em final. I know what you probably read." Riddick looked at the doctor, "I may be good at killin', but I don't necessarily enjoy it. It don't bother me when its gotta be done, but I don't do it just 'cause I like it."

The Doc nodded, "It seems Judge Nachman was right," he murmured, "there was reason," and Riddick was amazed. He'd expected righteous condemnation from this man, but it seemed the Doc was taking his account at face value and actually considering the circumstances. "Then what?" the doctor asked.

"I told Grycov." Riddick responded watching the doctor, "Big mistake. The next thing I know I'm under house arrest and he's got sweeper teams cleaning up the place. Not the stuff I've done; just any evidence of Sigma 3's part in the war. Everything I'd collected for him, all the com-logs of my contacting him, anything that might explain why I did what I'd done, all deleted, an me too stupid and trusting the man to have made back-ups. That left me with near 500 dead bodies to explain and not a scrap of evidence to argue with. Was kept in Deep Storage till just before the trial, then got stuck with a damn system lawyer. I'd never earned a credit that wasn't on Grycov's payroll, and hadn't seen a reason to keep it outside the company bank. That vanished with everything else so I couldn't hire one of those fancy attorneys. My system rep was over worked, under paid and thought I wasn't worth his time cause he figured me for guilty from the start. I hated the man, but I'll say this much for him. He didn't fold under Grycov, and he argued my case as best he could with what he had, which was nothin'. Instead of paying for 500 trials, Grycov only had to pay fer one and the guild got to keep its tidy reputation. Grycov hung me out to dry and called it good business." Riddick spoke in a low seething voice like far off thunder and it sent chills down Joshua's spine. If tones could kill, the doctor thought briefly.

"So now what?" Riddick asked sharply, an edge of wariness returning. Just because the doctor believed him, didn't mean the man wouldn't turn him in. 489 was a lot of men to ghost and this man had religion. Riddick's experiences with religious people had been few and far between. His last foster family had dragged him to church – figured getting religion might straighten him out. It had been a monster building – looked like something out an old horror movie. People inside hadn't been much better. Teacher in his class had taught silly stories about magic trees in a garden with a talking snake and a boat that held all the animals on Earth Prime during a flood - like these really had any relevance to his life. Then there had been a story about a guy named Samson – Riddick could get into him, killing lions with jaw bones, playing mind games with the dudes out to kill him, bringing down buildings with his bare hands, but when Riddick had tried to ask questions the teacher had gotten angry, accused him of disrupting the class and had him punished – some verse in The Book about sparing the rod and spoiling the child.

Another verse brushed his memory. Something about the rod and staff comforting. He didn't know where that came from, but it was obvious the teacher had never read it. He hadn't stayed for any of the lessons that followed. Every time they went to church he'd duck out of class at the first opportunity and disappear somewhere, then come back just before the grown ups were done with all their hoo-dooin'. The class was big enough that the teacher never noticed he was missing or if she did she never said anything to his foster parents.

Riddick found a few other guys doing the same thing so they started planning their escapes, meeting in different places. One guy snuck in some of his dad's dirty vid-mags, another brought supply catalogs full of weapons and stuff for merc wanna-be's. Riddick learned quite a few things in that church, but religion wasn't one of them. The holier-than-thou judgmentalism and rigid hypocrisy of religion was repugnant and remained so. Nowdays he tended to avoid anything that stunk of it. He already knew where he stood. He really didn't need someone else to tell him how bad he was; that'd been drummed into him since childhood. And he didn't need to have this "do good and be saved" crap shoved in his face either. The way he figured, he didn't have enough lifetime left to make up for the bad he'd done, so why bother trying. If there really was a place called Hell, he was pretty much living there already. Devil had already picked out his bonfire and hung up the 'Reserved for Riddick' sign. Riddick supposed all he was doing now was adding a few logs to it. No, he didn't need religion, but this man Jacobson seemed different somehow. Riddick didn't see the attitudes he normally associated with religious folk in Jacobson, that holier-than-thou stuff, but what that meant for him, Riddick didn't know.

Doctor Joshua stared at the blood stained blade on the table, lifting it back up and turning it as he reflected on what he had just heard. He had come looking for the truth, and it seemed to have been given to him no holds barred. Either Richard Riddick was an extraordinarily well-informed and deliberate liar, for much of what the young man said had dovetailed perfectly with the doctor's own research, or, as his heart was inclined to believe, the young convict was telling a bitter truth. And if such was the case, while the crime had been horrific, the reason for it had been almost noble. Had the young man truly had no other choice? Had it been that simple? Kill or be killed. Kill or let kill. 300 families on Carawa. Men. Women. Children. 900 people, maybe more. And then there were the refugees. How many refugees? And if the war continued... how many more casualties?

As a doctor Joshua understood the need to excise diseased flesh so that healthy tissue could thrive. He knew that under certain wretched conditions a few individuals that might be difficult to save would have to be sacrificed to give others a chance to be saved – it was a concept he struggled with even now. That was the bitter essence of triage, but was it truly the lives of 500 corrupt mercenaries versus the lives of 1000, 1200 or more innocent colonists? This wasn't flesh! These were souls… many souls! Could it still be that simple? Joshua shuddered as he considered the act, then forced himself to focus on the facts concerning Richard's trial: the fact that Grycov seemed to have gone to a great deal of effort to influence the judicial system – keeping Richard not just locked up, but cryoed until his trial; that the guild leader had pushed the trial through the bureaucracy so quickly; that he left Richard with a system lawyer instead of letting him have a paid attorney, nor would Joshua be surprised to learn Raspin Grycov had something to do with preventing the young man from testifying on his own behalf as well. It all seemed to justify the young convict's story more than disprove it. And that must have left a lot of bad blood between the two. 'So now what?' The young man had a very good question.

"So now I find myself wondering," the doctor finally voiced his continued train of thought, "how you, of all people, would come to be acting bodyguard to the daughter of the man who had you slammed?"

"Ironic as hell, ain't it?" Riddick stated, "Truth is her father sent me to get her out of Steinen territory," and he watched the doctor's eyebrows rise in disbelief.

"Perhaps you would care to elaborate," Joshua suggested unable to keep skepticism out of his voice entirely despite his best efforts.

"Yeah," Riddick grinned briefly, "That's how I felt," then he grew somber, "but it's simple. His kid's wild. Went where she shouldn't. Grycov needed someone who wasn't on his payroll to slip in and pull her outta Steinenland. He knows what I can do and I was in the right place to come do it. I hate the man, but he holds the leash to a 1 mil payday on my head so we made an agreement; I get his girl home safe and that payday and all it's little pals do a disappearin' act. I get a chance to start over, make a new life somewhere."

"And what about Grycov?" Jacobson wondered aloud, "He betrayed you once."

"He won't do it again if he knows what's good for him," Riddick rumbled dangerously, his voice as rough and unforgiving as granite stones, "I don't forgive," the convict growled shortly staring at the doctor peculiarly, "but if he keeps his end of the deal, I'll let Sigma slide."

The doctor stared at Riddick in silence a long moment, his expression tight, then he got up and walked down the hall. He walked like a man with a burden, and Riddick knew what that burden was; what to do with the escaped killer of 489 plus men. Every instinct in Riddick's body told him to follow the man, break his neck and hide the body before the man could turn him in, but again, contrary to his impulse, Riddick didn't move. When Jacobson reached the end of the hall, the doctor stopped, and leaned into the wall, his head bowed between his out stretched arms as his palms pushed against the stone. Riddick heard murmuring, and though he couldn't hear what was being said, he guessed Jacobson was praying. _Waste of time_, the young convict thought to himself remembering the pompous recitations he'd heard as a child, and yet when the doctor finally returned, something _had_ changed.

The Doc stopped at the room's entrance and leaned up against the wall, a casual imitation of Riddick's earlier stance. "You'll still be an escaped convict. Won't there be a warrant out there with your name on it?" The doctor picked up the conversation where they'd left off.

Riddick's eyed the doctor warily as he nodded, "Yeah, but no bounties mean no hunters. I can stop running. Maybe settle in one place long enough ta learn some things, figure out a legal trade. I don't wanna to be a merc again."

"You know," the doctor began with careful carelessness, "Trishary 4 might not be a bad place to settle in for awhile. It's relatively remote. The only people who come here are tourists and scientists, and both are usually too focused on their own pursuits to pay serious attention to the locals."

"Steinenland?" Riddick scoffed, even as he was amazed. The Doc wasn't going to try turnin' him in? A convicted murderer? His thoughts were turned on end, thinking past getting Vanessa home, past the ghosted bounties... actually taking a moment to consider the future. Why not Trishary 4? It wasn't like he had reason to go anywhere different, and Jacobson's reasoning was sound enough... if it weren't for Steinen.

Jacobson didn't move, but as if aware of Riddick's consideration the doctor's eyes shifted like lightning. "Steinen won't always be in charge of Trishary 4," the doctor said portentously, the same grim fire in his eyes that Riddick had seen when the doctor's hackles rose over Daria. "Someday… someday soon… he may find himself out of a job." There was a tremendous weight to that statement, but Riddick got the distinct impression it hadn't all been downloaded yet.

"And?" the young convict drawled.

"And you can help make it happen," the doctor said intently. Riddick's surprise grew. Not just a place on Trishary 4; Jacobson was inviting him to join the resistance! Inviting him to help take down Steinen! Jacobson stared at him, then misunderstanding the young man's expression, he came back to the table and sat down again. "There are those that actively oppose Steinen's presence on Trishary 4 and many other places," the dark physician began to explain.

_That's an understatement,_ Riddick thought, _there are those who actively oppose Steinen breathin'._

"Steinen wore out his welcome long before he set foot in our snow eleven years ago," the doctor was saying, "There were two rebellions in the first three years but he dealt with them efficiently and without mercy. Several tourists killed were in the second one and there was as much damage done to the economy by the bad press as there was by Steinen's punitive actions. It very quickly became apparent that frontal assaults were not the way."

"When the Third Resistance started up seven years ago it was decided the best way to remove Steinen from power would be by a subtle infiltration and permeation," the Doc said seriously, "Steinen knows the TR exists, but occasional front operations against military targets keep him from realizing our true agenda. We now have key members in every critical level of Steinen's organization throughout the Trishary system, and five systems beyond. When we finally take action here, changes of leadership, forced or otherwise, will ripple outward like a stone thrown in water and by the time realization of our coup reaches the ears of those beyond us there will be nothing they can do for we will have stabilized our power base and Steinen will be out of the picture."

It was an afternoon of surprises. And in the back of his mind Riddick wondered if Steinen might not find this information more valuable than Vanessa. "How deep you into this?" the convict asked wondering how much more information he could get out of the doctor without making the man suspicious.

"Deep enough to get myself killed," the doctor answered with a wry smile, "I have an important role to play, but I'm not essential. Few individuals are."

"And how deep you want me in this?" the young man asked. It was a loaded question. How much danger did Joshua want to involve him in? How much information was Joshua willing to trust him with?

As Joshua gazed at the young convict he felt his heart clashing with his common sense again. He had already told Richard enough to get himself killed and put the Third Resistance in jeopardy, but if he continued on he could well be signing their death warrant. He never missed his wife Sarah so much as now. She had always heard God's voice so clearly._ 'Trust in the LORD with all your heart,'_ he heard one of Sarah's favorite verses whisper in his mind, "_and lean not on your own understanding but in all your ways acknowledge Him, and he will direct your paths(**2**).'_ _I'm trying, Lord_, Joshua declared silently, _and_ _I DO trust You, but this boy's got a mind of his own!_ It felt like the biggest gamble of his life, and there was no time to ask for second opinions.

"As deep as you can get," the doctor answered gravely after a moment, "The TR is made up of relatively anonymous cell groups. Each cell's membership is determined by a target, and consists primarily of members who have positions in that target. The groups take their names from individuals in the Bible so that personal identities aren't divulged if one of our communications is intercepted. I'm on call as Steinen's personal physician," Jacobson said, as if the position was a curse, "There is no respect to the title, and little trust beyond those things medical, but it does put me in the position to learn things on occasion and it does give me access to the stronghold." _Now that would be an effective combination, _Riddick considered, _if Daria was involved - one in the halls, one in the walls. _ "That places me in cell Ehud(3), and while I am guessing the name means nothing to you, Mr. Riddick, suffice to say we are the fine point of the wedge. If we fail, the whole attempt may very well fail for we have the task of securing Steinen, and with him his stronghold."

Riddick held his silence as he digested the data he'd just been given. There was enough information here to guarantee the doctor's death, if not destroy the whole Third Resistance. He knew what Steinen would trade for this kind of intel and it was MORE than just Vanessa. It astounded him that the doctor was being so open. No one had trusted him like this since... He shook his head mentally. He couldn't remember _anyone_ ever trusting him like this – not to this scale. It just confirmed his previous observation about the Doc - the man trusted way too much - confirmed it in spades. "And my part in this?" he finally asked.

"It is said the Lord works in mysterious ways, Mr. Riddick" the doctor answered, "and I think you're here, at this time, for a reason. While I cannot even begin to guess the whole of it, there is one thing I'm sure of; your presence in Ehud could change everything. I want you to help us capture Steinen. In return we will help you recover Vanessa, and I think I can promise that Trishary 4 will be a much more pleasant place to stay by the time you get back."

"I don't need your TR to help me get Grycov's daughter out," Riddick stated flatly, "I got plans a lot less dangerous than cracking open this whole wasp nest looking for the king bee, and there's other places than Trishary 4 that I can settle on. This ain't my fight."

"No," Joshua agreed feeling his stomach lurch, "it's not your fight." Had he made a mistake? He knew what at least one of those plans could now be, and that any other could jeopardize the TR in any number of ways. "But you acted once before to defend women and children from death, and in truth this is little different save that they die slowly over the months and years instead of in one great slaughter. Can you imagine what it is like to live in a city never knowing if soldiers are going to burn your house or perhaps just break in and drag away fathers or mothers, or both, right before the eyes of their terrified children? Where a child like Daria must live in a hole under rocks like a Snatchit just to stay safe? Where pregnant women are run down in the streets mere blocks from their home?" his voice caught, and Riddick suddenly knew how Jacobson's wife had died. "Nor would you be fighting alone this time." Joshua argued persuasively, "You would have allies fighting by your side for the same cause, and when you return, these allies would be friends."

"Please, Richard, consider it," Jacobson implored, "You can make a difference here. You could help a lot of people... on Trishary 4 and beyond." Riddick stared hard at the dark skinned man. So it was Richard again. The Doc _was_ capable of playing that game, and then, in the same thought, Riddick realized he wasn't. The Doc spoke with his heart. It was Richard again because the doctor cared, wanted to care, but he couldn't unless they were on the same side. It wasn't a ploy, it was a plea, and if Riddick didn't agree, they would have conflicting agendas, it would be back to Mr. Riddick as the Doc tried to distance himself, and Riddick didn't know what the Doc would do; what he might have to do to the Doc… and to Daria. His gut twisted at the thought. _Damnit!_ he snarled to himself, _don't let emotions cloud the issue. I don't need friends._

"I'll think on it," Riddick finally said, then snagged the shiv on the table and strode over to the wall. After jamming the dirty knife in its harness, he grabbed his coat, "I'm going for a walk."

"Wait," the doctor stood up startled, "Promise me you won't betray us," Jacobson commanded plaintively, "Promise me you won't do anything to hurt Daria."

"I'll think on it." Riddick said again.

"Please, Richard," the doctor added fervently, "She trusts you. I've trusted you."

_Damn him_. "Yeah, way too much," Riddick growled as he shrugged on the garment. He pulled the shiv harness up onto his shoulder then grabbed the thermal barrier that blocked the tunnel. What would the Doc do? Try to kill him?

Doc Josh stood and Riddick tensed, his hand easing quietly to his shiv as the physician walked over, but the doctor only took the thermal barrier from Riddick's hand and held it aside for the young convict. "Be careful," the doctor said tightly, "Captain Cuddian is looking for you. Mr. Grycov won't deal unless he sees your body."

_Damn him. _

"By the way," Joshua added, trying to lighten the moment, "I like the new look."

Damn him. "Yeah, thanks," Riddick answered distractedly as he ran his hand over his now smooth scalp, then ducked into the tunnel. He needed to think.

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**-oOo-**

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****Something new :o) - my WRITER'S NEWS, NOTES & THANKS:**

At the end of one of the stories I've been following, the author made a point of thanking reviewers personally. I liked it. It was a neat way to recognize and interact with the people who had taken time to read and share their thoughts so I decided to incorporate the idea, (Thanks for the idea Haynet) so here we go...

**THANKS:**

**JackylnK** – Welcome back! Hope you're summer trip was enjoyable! Thanks for the kinds words. You don't know how much they are appreciated. After all, reviews are the food we starving amateurs crave, and good reviews are icing on the cake ;-)

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**CARE TO LOOK THEM UP? Here's the Bible references used in this chapter:**

1) Hebrews 13:5

2) Proverbs 3:5

3) Judges 3:15


	15. Chapter 15: House Call

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 15**

**House Call**

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It was the dark of night, after late had eased into early, when Riddick finally made his way topside. The only satisfying thing about the evening was the shiv in his harness was finally clean... his single shiv. Its twin wasn't on the walkway where he'd left it. He had an idea where he might find it, but he wasn't ready to go there. Wrapping his coat around the harness, he turned it into an unshapely wad of fabric with a deadly core and tucked it under his arm.

He stopped at the first information kiosk he saw to get his bearings and directions, and then set out with intent. The streets were still and nearly devoid of people as he passed through the low-town business district. Even the bars and nightclubs seemed reserved, and there was a feeling in the air, a very subtle feeling felt faintly at the back of his neck, very much like the near imperceptible changes before a storm. He kept walking, eventually finding himself crowded in by darkened merchant shops along an empty street. A single failing street lamp tried vainly to provide illumination to the avenue, but it left many dark shadows on either side. That did not bother Riddick.

He was incongruous to his surroundings. Something wild passing through civilization, a wolf padding down the middle of a city street. He was confident, senses alert, even though the still air of the shielded city hampered somewhat. Without the influx of regular wind and weather, smells tended to stay localized; the bars reeked of booze and vomit, the nightclubs smelled of hot bodies and altered chemistries, forgotten garbage stunk of decay... even the bakery redolent with bread and yeast; it all hung heavy in the air dulling the subtler scents. This was little more than an annoyance, however. He still had five other senses to rely on so he was not taken completely by surprise when the sudden flair of a cigarette revealed an unseen occupant in a shadowed alcove.

"You there!" the occupant called out, "Where's your pass?" There was an authority to the voice. Not just the arrogance of a street tough, but the certainty of one used to issuing orders and having them obeyed.

"Pardon?" Riddick answered blandly, "What pass would that be?" The guttering streetlight revealed doors and windows, all tightly shut, and any lights visible in upstairs apartments winked out quickly within moments of the shout. Riddick already knew where the avenues of escape were. Being aware of that was second nature. It was just a question of how much he wanted to stir things up by making that escape... **if** he wanted to escape at all.

"The pass that's going to let your big butt keep going safely down the street," the shadowed occupant retorted. A rhythmic clicking began emanating from below the bright ember that glowed in the darkness, then the man strolled out into the street. He wasn't dressed like a member of Steinen's guard, but his manner, his tone, his bearing all stunk of authority. _Plain clothes harassment to keep the locals in line,_ Riddick considered, _or maybe just some asshole using his rep to take on the side_. In the man's hand silver flashes caught the light as he whirled a butterfly knife with menacing sureness.

"So how's this work?" Riddick asked keeping his head down and his face in shadow as he watched the man approach, watched the hand that flipped flashing knife. There were reasons, he decided, not to run. He'd been out of commission for 3 days too long. He felt the need to stretch his muscles and test his reflexes. That, and overconfident stupidity like this needed to be removed from the gene pool. The tough was hefty and well built, but too thickheaded to even be wary of the muscled man he was trying to shake down.

"Simple," the man growled, stopping within arms reach expecting his fancy knife work to impress Riddick, "you pass me your credits and anything else of value and I let you live to see tomorrow."

"Sound's like a decent plan," Riddick nodded briefly, still watching the flipping knife, "I only see one problem."

"And what would that be?" the tough snarled.

Riddick lifted his face to meet the man's eyes, "You picked me," and the bundle under the convict's arm fell to the street as a lightning strike closed his hand over the knife wielder's fingers just as the twin handles of the butterfly knife came together securing it blade open.

"You're him! You're alive!" the man managed to gasped as he pulled back in sudden surprise, fearful too late, then he was jerked forward into Riddick's oncoming horizontal chop and his larynx crushed like cheap plastic. One move flowed into the next as Riddick brought his knee up against the bend of the man's elbow, then redirected the artificially double jointed limb back and buried the blade of the butterfly knife in the man's stomach.

"Yeah, and you're dead." Riddick quipped as the man folded over against him, "You should be more careful who ya play with."

The man could only squirm. Riddick glanced toward a dark alley considering just what he wanted to do with the body when the barest of sounds warned him, a crunch of gravel, a soft gasp and the splash of cups hitting the ground, disgorging their contents. Riddick spun, twisting the man around with him just in time to intercept the vivid blue flash of a plasma discharge. The ex-guard spasmed violently and a portion of the bright energy leaped past the body to sear Riddick's arm. Riddick roared as skin charred and muscle broiled, but Riddick's shield felt nothing more as he sagged dead weight in the convict's hands. Riddick let the man fall as he ducked a second plasma burst and rolled away coming up in a low crouch. "My turn," Riddick growled as his hand snapped up from his boot launching the double-edged knife.

The blade flew true, but the new guard flinched, his gun jerking into the knife's path. The knife deflected off the weapon slicing a deep slash in the man's face instead of his throat, but that moment of distraction was all Riddick needed to cross the distance between them. He bodily slammed into the second guard taking control of the man's gun the way he had taken control of his partner's knife as he pinned the man to the ground, the plasma pistol's barrel inches from the man's head. "Bad timing," Riddick commented, "worse aim."

"Shit, you're Riddick!" the guard rasped trying to get his breath back, "You're supposed ta be...," then he stopped as his brain churned double speed. He didn't need to tell Riddick something the bodyguard probably already knew. He needed to give the man a reason to let him live, "Steinen's got a big reward out for the man that brings you in so he can deal with Grycov," the second guard said in a rush, "Bet he'd cut you an even bigger deal. Let me take a message! Steinen wants to see to you bad!"

Riddick shook his head, "Sorry, I don't want to see Steinen... yet. And I don't need anyone to carry mail fer me," Riddick twitched his thumb as he pulled his face away. A brief blue light flashed through the man's head illuminating his stunned features from the inside as the body went rigid, and then slack, wisps of smoke curling out of cranial orifices both old and new. "When I'm ready I'll take it myself," Riddick finished, then rose easily to his feet as he shook out his shoulders and gave his neck a comfortable twist. _Not bad for a man who fell off a cliff three days ago_, he mused, and then another thought settled in his mind. Jacobson had told him straight. Steinen **was** looking for him to force the deal with Grycov.

He recovered his boot knife and took the time to clear the trash off the street then resumed his course. His destination had not changed.

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Riddick let himself in the backdoor. He didn't have the codes for it, but it was an older lock and overriding the simple mechanism was not difficult. Grycov's guild had taught him more than killing. It had been a nice neighborhood once. Was a decent house now, but it had seen better days. He slipped into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him and stood in the darkened room letting his eyes adjust. The plasma burn on his arm screamed quietly. After the adrenaline of the battle had faded the burn had been enough to break him out in a cold sweat, to leave his knees feeling weak as his body dealt with the shock of it, but he hadn't let it stop him. With conscious deliberation he forced his mind to accept the pain - accept and ignore it to the best degree it could. As he had told Jacobson, pain was an obstacle and he overcame obstacles anyway he had to.

Looking around he let himself drop his guard, slightly, glad to have walls between him and the streets; between him and patrols that would just as soon bring him in dead. His livin' didn't serve Steinen no purpose; all that man needed was a body. That wasn't a reassuring thought, but as he stood in the plain little kitchen he felt an invitation to just be at ease. There was a sense of gentle comfort and welcome that he could not recall from any other place he'd been in, but then it had been a lifetime since he'd been in anything that might even resemble a house. Boxes, cells, holes, flops, dumps, dodges... those he'd been in, but not a house, not a **home**, and singular scent of this place clearly marked it Jacobson's home. The sense of the place invited him to relax and gave the pain a tentative foothold, but he refused both. There was a reason for this errand.

Riddick checked the man's stasis box and found a meger selection; jug of eggs, odd & end packages - some commercially sealed, some left-overs in reusable containers, a small selection of condiments... The cold box wasn't much better: juice of some sort and a six-pack of tea, 1 missing. It was a lean selection; not what he expected for a doctor's food store, but the tea was cold so he took one and carefully laid the container against the sear on his arm letting his breath hiss softly between his teeth as the chilled container clashed with the dull agony of the burn. It needed to be looked to, but all in good time. Opening the bottle he took a long drink, then moved silently from the kitchen into the dining room.

The dining room had not been used for that purpose for a long time. Stacked on the table were boxes of vid-mags, all medical and science journals, and a library's worth of micro-memory book cards on equally exciting subjects. Two chairs were pulled out of their places, one near the kitchen door where a well used card reader sat next to an empty tea bottle on the table. The other sat at end of the table holding the doctor's satchel.

Riddick had expected to find it somewhere in the house – medics were never far from their kits. The bag itself, now that he looked at it more closely, was well made and had simple, if relatively sturdy print-reader locks. Wouldn't be too hard to crack open, literally, but it would make some noise so he held off. He'd expected more considering the expensive equipment the bag held... like the portable Dar-Gen... but it didn't bother him at all that the locks were so plain. Riddick knew what his arm needed and it was more than just a little fusing and new skin. The portable DG would leave scars – big ones that wouldn't go away, but he didn't care so long as the arm worked. He left the bag where it lay for the time being. The dining room fed into the living room through an archway and Riddick moved cautiously into the open room.

It was hard to describe the décor of the place - neglected came to mind. If the Doc had money, he wasn't spending it on the things for his house. The furniture had been nice once, although never posh, but now it just appeared tired. One exception was an expensive looking, but static picture hanging on the wall. It was made of different letters and fancy texts combined in a physically three-dimensional design over several backgrounds and textures spelling out: "_...with God all things are possible. Matthew 19:26." _Riddick stared at it a moment trying to figure out why it was familiar, then recalled part of the conversation from the dark 'dream.' A smile flickered on his lips as he remembered; he suspected that was something Daria heard a lot.

The nicest features in the room were a mantled fireplace with a 3-D flicker screen to project the flames and a wide antique bookcase made of real wood stationed off to one side of the fireplace. One shelf of the bookcase actually contained a small collection of real paper paged books, and above it another shelf glinted dully with awards. Riddick stepped over to glance curiously at both of them. The books smelled of old wood and aged leather. The awards were shoved onto the shelf haphazardly as if they had just been put there for storage rather than display. Many bore the name Dr Joshua Jacobson, some Dr Sarah Pevency, and several simply said the I-Cor13 Medical Clinic. Many were given out of gratitude, some even handmade, and many were for medical excellence and recognition.

Riddick supposed medical excellence would explain why Steinen wanted Jacobson working for him. It didn't explain why Doc Josh was taking the money of a man he said he hated and practicing in low town when he could be some hot shot cutter in some high-muck hospital taking care of rich folks.

Riddick found a possible explanation as he turned and noticed a curious series of squares in the dust upon the mantle. House keeping was not the doctor's strong suit. The shapes in the dust were identical in size to a series of pictures on the wall, but the amount in each square lessened as if all the pictures had been laid upon the mantle, but had been rehung at different intervals. The first showed a much younger Jacobson looking happy as a merc with stuffed pockets and a full bottle standing in something like a church. The Doc was dressed in a flashy looking black suit and standing next to him was a hot red head in a long fancy white dress with a scooping neckline. She held a big bunch of flowers and wore a gleaming silver cross around her neck.

The image of the pendent on bare skin caught Riddick's attention for some reason, brushing at a memory so old he hadn't even words to describe it. He reached up to touch the shiny bit of metal as it seemed he might have done once before, but as the picture sensed his body heat the image suddenly activated. The image of Jacobson animated and moved to block Riddick's view of the jewelry as the doctor pulled the red head into a passionate kiss. Riddick jerked his hand away, the animation jarring him out of his moment of reverie and he watched as the picture completed its cycle and began again. He guessed it was a wedding, not that he'd ever been to one, but you heard things.

In the next picture the doc and the red head were a few years older, but they still looked happy. They were standing together outside a building that said Shyanne Medical Mission. The tranquility of the picture transformed as Jacobson pretended to wipe something off the red head's face and instead smeared something dark down her nose. The red head drew back in surprise, and the sequence ended as she scooped up a handful of mud and chased a laughing Jacobson off screen.

In the third they stood, old fashion hammers in hand, grinning with a bunch of kids in front of a construction that said Trinity Orphanage. Jacobson leaned over to whisper something in the red head's ear, and she turned to kiss him as the kids who noticed snickered and gagged theatrically.

The fourth picture looked like it might be closer to home. The red head's hair was shorter and Jacobson was starting to show some grey, but the spark of joy was still bright in both their eyes as they sat with another bunch of kids of assorted ages and nationalities in front of a huge snowman. Riddick saw it immediately; the kids had something planned, and the one between Jacobson and the red head had a look in his eye Riddick had seen before. As the image animated the kid by Jacobson jumped the gun and suddenly smacked Jacobson in the side of the head with a snowball. _No patience, _Riddick grinned, _bad habit._ The doctor turned on the boy straight faced, eyes dancing and began a lecture that lasted just long enough for the red head to take a fistful of snow from the snowman and cram it down the boy's neck, and then total chaos erupted. As if on signal, the rest of the kids began to bombard the two doctors who ran off screen laughing with the kids in hot pursuit, all save the first boy who was left dancing in front of the snowman as he tried to get the snow out of his clothes. _Impatience can kill ya, kid_, Riddick thought at the boy as the image reset, _hope y_a _learned yer lesson. Life don't hand out many retakes._

The last hook on the wall was empty, it's picture left laying face down on the mantle. Riddick picked it up. Jacobson and the red head stood side by side once again, this time in front of this very house. Suddenly the woman's eyes grew wide and she laughed. She grabbed Jacobson's hand and placed it on her noticeably pregnant stomach. His hand moved as if being pushed from underneath and the doctor's eyes grew wide in wonder and awe as he grinned, then pulled the red head into a kiss every bit as passionate as the one in the wedding photo. Riddick put the picture back down quickly, hiding the image. He was learning more about the doctor than he wanted to. He drained his tea and left the bottle on the mantle as he turned and drifted toward the hall.

Before he left the living room a door on the right opened into an office or some such. The doc's scent was strong here, as it was everywhere, and he realized that under it lay another barely strong enough to distinguish, no longer clear enough to identify, as if the person hadn't been around for a long time.

There wasn't much in the way of furnishings in the office; a computer desk and a few pieces of unfamiliar equipment were arranged against one wall, while storage cabinets were lined up against the rest with haphazardly stacked boxes in-between. Riddick thought the equipment might have something to do with making or fixing clothes; he'd seen support crew using something like them at the Laundromatic on Sigma 3, but he'd just never paid much attention. You dropped off your clothes to be cleaned, and if they were damaged, well, they weren't when you picked them up and the bill was a bit higher. He'd never asked how it was done. It didn't seem, however, that this equipment was being used any longer as the computer station was the only item with obvious access through the clutter.

Just down the hall from the office there was another static picture hanging in the hall than read, "_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails... 1 Corinthians 13:4-8_."

_Zat what love's supposed to be?_ Riddick snorted softly, _hot and willin' was the only thing ever mattered to me._ But even as he thought that, he recalled the pictures on the mantle and the bright joy so evident in the eyes of Jacobson and the red head. Could there be something more to love than two hot bodies? It was all he had ever known, but then his life hadn't given too many opportunities for anything different. He didn't see that same joy in Jacobson's eyes now, but there was still something there, something remaining. He continued on down the hall.

The next right hand door was a bathroom - empty. It had been decorated with a soft ocean theme that was quite obviously not the doctor's work. The second right was closed, but Riddick pushed it open quietly. A musty forsaken smell wafted out as the door swung open and as he peered in he was perplexed for a moment. The walls glowed with a faint blue preprogrammed luminescence, just barely enough to see by, and cutsy little animal borders slept in the darkness, but the room appeared to have been abandoned mid design. A chest of drawers, a small railed table and a large box with a cushioned lid were stacked against the wall to make room for the assembly of an odd little bed with bars like an old slam cell, but the little bed sat half finished in the middle of the floor, its tools and pieces scattered around as if deserted without warning.

Riddick stared at the furnishings for a moment, then an ancient childhood memory from one of his foster families stirred. The small, unfinished bed was called a crib. It was a bed just for babies, and he thought of the picture still laying on the mantle as he heard Jacobson's distant voice in his thoughts, _Sarah learned something she wasn't supposed to and Steinen had her killed. She was 7 months pregnant at the time. Our first child._ The red head had a name. Jacobson had a wife. They were supposed to have a kid. Riddick almost rebelled against the realization. It had been obvious from the beginning. He had known who the woman was; he just didn't want to acknowledge it. He didn't **want** to get this personal with Jacobson, and yet some small part of him he could not control hungered for this knowledge; some small part that Doc Josh had awakened with the tantalizing possibility of future.

When you served in a merc unit, when you did time in slam, the goal was survival, kill the enemy, plan the escape. To do that you had to know people, but that was entirely different from **gettin'** to know people. You didn't want be crew-pals; you just wanted to get in their heads. You wanted to know what set them off, just how far you could push 'em, and what could be used as leverage; You wanted to know if they were an easy drunk or a mean one, how tight were their tongues, how loose were their credits. You wanted to know if they were a soft touch or if they rode a fine line. You used that kind of intel to serve your purpose and plan the next set of moves, but life couldn't be plotted much beyond that with any certainty. Oh, he had wanted to get his hands on Grycov after he escaped, but it had yet to reach the stage of "plan." Survival... freedom... those took priority.

But now he was finding new possibilities, new questions in his mind. What would it be like to have a "normal" life? To be able to settle in with one woman? To _love_ one woman? Have kids? A steady job? To know tomorrow was going to be pretty much like today? Riddick remembered an old curse he had heard one time. May your life always be interesting. Hadn't sounded so bad when he heard it, but now he was living that curse – never knowing what the next day, or even the next hour might bring, and he thought he would be willing to trade almost anything to live boring for a while.

And it had occurred to him in the silence of his time alone that the doctor and he weren't too far different in that regard, and the thought wasn't reassuring. Working for Steinen while part of the Third Resistance - the edge the doctor was riding right now was every bit as fine as his own. While Riddick was looking back over his shoulder to find his enemies, the doctor was walking straight through the door of his never knowing what was waiting on the other side. It took courage, but the Doc also had a manner about him Riddick couldn't quite get a lock on, as if, ultimately, the outcome of this resistance business didn't matter... as if he already knew the results of the last roll of dice. Why? What'd the man know that Riddick didn't? The convict didn't like the answer that crossed his mind. For all his holy-hoodoo-help-the-other-man airs, Jacobson was still human, and Riddick knew what he would be inclined to do in Jacobson's position - if a man his enemy wanted had fallen into his hands.

He turned from the kid's room and cautiously, silently, eased open the door across from it. He would have known this room blind; it was pungent with the doctor's odor, and here he could smell the other barely distinct, but still lingering, - the faint and fading scent of a woman like bright sun and fresh rain. He pushed the door open little by little, listening carefully to the slow even breathing of the occupant. A faint light from somewhere offered illumination; just enough to identify various pieces of furniture; a dresser, a chest at the foot of a bed with a set of clothes folded neatly on top, a bedside table, then finally a bed with a well-worn cover under which Doc Josh slept soundly, completely unaware of the quiet invasion of his property. As the door silently completed its arc Riddick saw another bedside table that held a flex-necked reading lamp and a book, as well as the luminous clock that was providing the light, pale as it was. The last piece of furniture revealed was a comfortable padded high backed chair tucked up catty corner to the table with the lamp.

Riddick slipped in taking in the rest of the room. Another of the static three-dimensional pictures was mounted on the wall. He could just barely make out the words, "_Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need. Hebrews 4:16_."

Love, mercy, grace, help us in our time of need – sounded a lot like a religion for wimps and cowards, except Riddick knew Jacobson was neither. Doc Josh had to be one of the oddest men Riddick had ever met, peaceful and gentle, but not afraid of a fight; calm and intelligent, and yet full of passion; religious and righteous and yet kind and forgiving. Peaceful... gentle... kind... forgiving... Riddick just couldn't wrap his brain around them – he would have normally thought those things weaknesses, but the doctor didn't wear 'em that way. On him they were strengths. And then there was that something else; that one last piece that just wouldn't fall into place, and Riddick didn't like that.

The sear on Riddick's arm ached with a raw dull agony, but he ignored it as he eased along the side of the bed and stood over the doctor. Just who was this man? What did he have planned? Riddick rarely second guessed his instincts. They kept him alive, and yet not once, but twice he'd left the doctor living when his gut said kill the man. Both times the doctor had surprised him, had shown him acceptance when Riddick had expected condemnation. Could he believe the man or was it all some trickeration to turn him in? What better way to cosy up to Steinen and convince him his doc was trusty, probably earn some cash on the side, and Jacobson was no fool. Doc Josh would know he was no match for Riddick now that the convict was on his feet. Riddick didn't want to believe it, but what he knew of human nature wouldn't let him dismiss it. And even if it wasn't the doctor's plan now, Jacobson was in the position to betray him any moment.

Part of Riddick wondered if killing Jacobson still wasn't the wisest course of action – dead men couldn't change their minds, and he didn't need the Doc to accomplish his mission. Here, in Jacobson's home, he could even make it look relatively natural. He stood there undecided, overshadowing the man in the bed, and as he stood there the doctor surprised him again. The man was sleeping like one exhausted, but somewhere on the edge of unconscious awareness Riddick's presence was registering and Doc Josh was beginning to stir.

Riddick's hand reached out, hovering above the doctor's throat, but Jacobson didn't wake. Instead Riddick's nearness encouraged the doctor to dreams and the dark man began to mumble. His words were indistinct at first, then, clearly, "please, Lord, keep richard safe," the physician murmured softly, "give him wisdom."

_Damn him_. Riddick sighed, letting his hand fall, then he sagged back into the chair. Could he kill a man who prayed for him in his sleep?

If he had to...

...but did he have to?

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-oOo-

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**WRITER'S NEWS, NOTES & THANKS: **

**THANKS**

**JacklnK**** –** You are right about putting a blade back in its sheath dirty. Even with the blood dry it probably wouldn't be a good idea. I recall thinking about it briefly, but I had pictured Riddick's sheath as having an open design – less sheath, more holder. Of course, I hadn't bothered to describe that anywhere. After a bit of thought I went back to Chapter 5 to make the main fix - seemed like the best place to fit it in. Thanks for pointing it out. Riddick would indeed know, and would not be likely to let emotions cloud proper weapon's care regardless of the situation.

**To my other readers:** Thank you for continuing to reading. Reviews are welcome ;-)


	16. Chapter 16: Options

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**If you are one of my regular readers, you might want to read this  
If this is your first time reading Chances, just skip to the story**

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**WRITER'S NOTE:** To my regular readers – I'm sorry, I've kept you waiting SO long, and then I don't actually post **3** new chapters. (I know, I'm such a baaaad girl) If you read Chapter 16 when it was first posted, you've already read this chapter and the next, at least **in part**, but **they have changed**. I decided to break Chap 16 chapter into two, but that was only after I revised it a bit – the hazard of post-as-you-go stories I guess, and I apologize.

**What did I change?** I tweaked the character interactions in several places, but the biggest changes are:  
**»-**at the very end of the new Chap 16, right after Doc Josh grabs his bag – it's completely rewritten.  
**»-**some shifting in Chap 17 right after Riddick's arm is patched and he asks "So how'd a doc like you get mixed up in this resistance business?"  
**»-**the biggest follows Riddick asking "How'd you end up on Steinen's scanner ta start with?"– Doc tells HOW he got mixed up with Steinen – that's new stuff.  
**LASTLY** – To those kind enough to review the original chapter 16, you will find my responses at the end of the new chapter 17.

None of it changes the story line, but it does (I hope) add to it and the characters. You can reread as you choose :o) or skip straight to chapter 18 (Its ALL new).

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**Chapter 16**

**Options**

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Riddick slumped in the chair. None of the physician's further mumblings were legible, and after a time the doctor grew quiet. Riddick's thoughts were anything but. He was uncharacteristically torn, but in the quiet of the night, in the peace of this house, in the presence of this man, he felt strangely free to wrestle with his thoughts. It was not a physical battle, but it was a battle nonetheless, stirred up by this dark doctor and his strange hoodoo ways.

Riddick could probably count on one hand, certainly no more than two, the number of people who may have cared for him – people who could rightfully call him Richard. The Riddicks. For all the good they'd done him, Daria was right in one regard; they'd given him their name, but despite what the girl believed a name seemed like a piss poor inheritance, even if it was a "good one." If he stretched his memory he thought he could remember one foster family that seemed to care, but his time with them had been so short it was hard to be certain; maybe a counselor or two, although they were questionable; and Judge Nachman. Although his time in the judge's presence had only totaled minutes, Riddick truly believed the man had cared. _Wonder what Nachman thinks of me now, _he mused, then quickly rejected the thought.

Truth was after the Riddicks died his life had little resemblance to normal. When he was younger he'd talked to others who'd gone through the system; most had done all right - had families that took care of them. He hadn't been so lucky. Maybe the system was just screwed in his little corner of the galaxy, but no one had been in any hurry to fix it so most his young memories were of cruelty and neglect at different hands. The pain didn't change, only the faces.

Now there was Jacobson. He wondered briefly what it would have been like to have a father like Jacobson; strong enough of character to fight for what he believed; gentle enough to forgive the unforgivable (where did a man get that kind of strength? Riddick didn't understand it. He didn't know if he wanted to, but he recognized it was a kind of strength most men didn't have); capable of caring about another as if they were his own flesh and blood. Had the Riddicks really cared about him like that? The way Joshua seemed to care about Daria? He had the barest inkling that for some brief moment maybe someone had, maybe, but he refused to consider it further. He refused to permit any other memories. That was past. It was time to think about future.

The way he saw it having Jacobson alive left three options. Get another ship - didn't have to be fancy, just space worthy - let Daria get Vanessa and skip planet. Pros: He was out of it. She got caught, he'd still have a chance. Cons: He was out of it. Too many variables and Daria was just a kid. If things went bad she might not have the brains to salvage it... and if she did pull it off... getting a ship would eat a chunk of his fee unless he could nip it, but he didn't need any 'all point bulletins' out when they were trying to slip system cause he took the wrong one. Major problem with this one, either way, was if they did get caught in space they wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell... and he'd be leaving Doc and Daria in a kettle with the heat turned full. That last one...it wasn't a deciding factor. It would bug him, but if it that was the price of freedom, he figured he could live with it.

The second option was go in with Jacobson and take out Steinen – leave under the new regime, who ever that was. Pros: They pulled it off, they'd owe him. Safe passage out in Grycov's ship was all but in the bag. Steinen gone, Jacobson adopts Daria, Vanessa goes home, bounties disappear, he'd be free, maybe even have a place to settle. Everybody happy. Cons: Join a coup to extract a girl? What kind of ass hole idea was that? Overkill to be sure, **IF** they could pull it off. But the first two resistances had failed. If this one failed, Jacobson was screwed, Daria was screwed, Vanessa was screwed, **HE** was screwed, and the odds probably favored screwed.

Third option – trade intel on the resistance for Vanessa and safe passage. Pros: Almost a guaranteed success. That kind of knowledge Steinen would give his eyeteeth **AND** a significant sum for. Wasn't sure just how far Steinen could be trusted, but precautions could be arranged. Cons: Wasn't sure just how far Steinen could be trusted. That and Jacobson was dead, Daria was dead, probably the whole damn Third Resistance was dead...

...but he'd be free.

FREE! He'd pay most anything to get that, but since he hadn't done anything to commit himself he figured there was no sense writing any option off yet.

Last two options hinged on information – enough to make a decision... or enough to better the trade – and since the best source of information remained... Riddick glanced at the clock then the doctor. Four hours till sunrise but beauty sleep was a lost cause on this man. The young convict reached down beside the chair, gritting his teeth as the seared flesh on his opposite arm pulled tight. Picking up one of the doctor's boots, he lifted it up. He knew better than to wake someone with any combat experience by touching them. Waking him that way could be down right deadly, presuming someone could get that close without his being aware of them. He didn't expect that to be an issue with Jacobson, but frankly, Riddick didn't feel like getting up, and he was curious just how attuned to his surroundings the good doctor was? Riddick let the boot drop.

The reaction was near instantaneous. At the thump the doctor jerked and was sitting up before he was even completely aware, but very shortly his eyes found Riddick in the pale darkness. It took a moment for his tired brain to put an identity to the silent shape slouched in the chair. The young man's hands were steepled in front of him, but Joshua focused on the shadowed face behind them. "Richard. How long have you been here?" he mumbled half awake.

"Long enough," Riddick rumbled quietly. There was an odd satisfaction in the sleepy man's careless form of address.

He felt Jacobson's bleary eyed gaze in the faint light as his quiet trespass and answer registered on the doctor's thoughts, then the man reached over to touch the lamp on the table between the bed and chair murmuring, "low, please." Riddick felt a faint flash of amusement. The man was even courteous to his utilities. The doctor also had an eye for detail for as the light level increased, Doc Josh noticed the charred and blistered skin on the young convict's arm. The doctor leaned forward instantly awake, "You're injured – focused beam, full," he commanded the lamp, then, "room light, ease to moderate!"

Riddick offered nothing as the doctor directed the lamplight on his arm, the brightness seeming to amp up the ache even as Jacobson slipped out of bed to look at the wound critically. Doc Josh then exited the room with a purposeful stride. He was back moments later and Riddick couldn't help but smile. The dark skinned physician looked anything but professional carrying his satchel while dressed in a white tank top and silky boxers covered in fancy little X's, O's and curly 'I love you's. Jacobson paused at Riddick's expression, glancing over his attire briefly, and then sighed. "My wife gave them to me, a whole collection actually," he eyed Riddick, "I usually have an opportunity to dress before I entertain guests," he pointed out good-naturedly.

The young convict eyed him back with an expression that plainly said 'and this should affect me how?' The doctor shook his head, then knelt by the chair and opened his bag.

All at once Riddick realized the danger he invited letting Jacobson mess with his arm. The peace of the house and the Doc's tolerant manner had eased his guard, but if the doctor **were** planning to turn him in this was an opportunity the man wouldn't pass up. Riddick was offering Jacobson his back, and there were things in that bag that could take him down... unless he acted... unless he stopped the doctor now...

_The Doc hasn't betrayed you yet._

The clarity of the thought was almost startling, almost like a small quiet voice, but it wasn't his, it couldn't be his... could it? But how else was it going to get in his head if it wasn't HIS thought. It was a war, he thought, the animal side of him reacting to the possible threat, the human side suddenly rearing its head rebelling against hurting the man... **this** man, without reason.

_Take a chance_.

The risk was too great. If he was wrong, he was dead wrong.

_Take the chance_.

Humanity seemed to win out. Against all instinct Riddick stayed his hand a third time as the doctor pulled a device from the bag and pressed it against his skin high on the shoulder above the wound. There was a brief tingle, sharp and penetrating as it ran down his arm and up his neck, then nothing.

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****WRITER'S NOTE:  
**Chap 16 and 17 were originally one chap, but I decided to reconfigure so answers to reviews for the original Chap 16 are found at the end of 17. 


	17. Chapter 17: Be Still

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 17**

**Be Still**

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Riddick sighed in unconscious relief as the AnestaBlock numbed the entire arm. It was amazing how pain, even when ignored, subliminally dominated the senses. Its sudden absence felt briefly overwhelming, and on its heels was an incredulous wonder that the betrayal he feared had failed to materialize. Riddick let them ride as he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He **was** safe, if only for the moment. The burning agony was gone, and his arm was being seen to... it was enough. For these few minutes, in the company of this man, he let himself relax. Life would get interesting again soon enough.

The doctor laid protective sheets under Riddick's arm and set up a steri-field, but a few minutes after he began working he sat back on his heels, "This was caused by a plasma burst," he looked up at the quiet convict. When Riddick offered no response the doctor elaborated bluntly, "Only Steinen's men carry plasma weapons. What have you been doing?"

Riddick tipped his head just enough to see the doctor through half lidded eyes, reluctant to lose the moment. "Reducing Steinen's plain clothes population." he finally said simply, impressed that the doctor would recognize the cause of the injury. The doctor's eyes narrowed at his response, obviously dissatisfied with the answer, so Riddick deigned to elaborate himself, "I was on my way here when some tough tried to shake me down. Ended badly... for him. I figured him fer a guard; but when his partner came 'round the corner and started throwin' plasma, I knew. Both knew my face and I didn't need 'em talkin'."

Riddick half expected the doctor to comment, and Doc Josh did shake his head sadly, but the condemnation did not come... again. "They would. That was Lieutenant Esham and Baker," the doctor said regretfully as he returned his attention to Riddick's arm, "They know the face of most every person Steinen is looking for. They've been a problem in low town's merchant district, especially recently." He glanced up at Riddick meaningfully before resuming. Riddick closed his eyes again, listening, "First they were just heavy handed security, then they decided everyone was resistance. Their little shakedowns made them some cash on the side while they pulled in anyone they wanted for questioning. Most come back worse for wear; some don't come back at all." The doctor sighed, "I protested to Steinen, but he didn't seem to care. For all I know he authorized it."

"Ain't a problem anymore." The young man rumbled contentedly.

"Where are the bodies?" Joshua asked a little more sharply than he'd intended.

Riddick stirred again to look at the doctor who kept his eyes on his work. There was something building. Whatever Riddick had sensed in the air... and the doctor was afraid two dead guards might affect it. Only one explanation he could think of – the resistance was moving soon. "Where they won't be found, least wise 'til they start to really stink. Figure it'll be at least a week." The doctor relaxed marginally. Make that real soon! The moment was lost. Life had just turned interesting again. Riddick watched the doctor wondering just how he wanted to go about getting more information and how it would affect his options.

Doc Josh worked with flowing precision, the movement of his hands never ceasing as he traded out equipment and plied his trade to the wound on Riddick's arm in a methodical rhythm. Even through the AnestaBlock Riddick could feel hints of the doctor's work, brief flashes and twinges that should have been excruciating as the man debrided the charred and ragged wound. Riddick watched with detached interest as his plasma ravaged flesh was trimmed, cut and removed. There was an element of familiarity to it all and Riddick had little difficulty imagining these deft dark hands putting his skull back together. Finally Doc Josh laid some sort of temporary seal over the wound. "That's all I want to do here," he announced, "but this should keep it for an hour or four until we can get to the clinic. I've got equipment there that will restore the skin and muscle tissue without scarring." Riddick grunted his assent and looked over the temp job the man had done as the doctor cleaned up.

Joshua folded up the steri-field unit and carefully sealed the bio-trash in a shielded wrap for disposal elsewhere. The tissue he'd removed would give off a low radiation for a time, and while it wasn't dangerous, it **was** detectable if the guard decided to do a sweep looking for contraband plasma weapons. Setting it aside, Joshua replaced the remainder of his equipment in his bag as he considered the young man's presence in his home. Richard's single-minded tolerance of pain had to border on superhuman for there was no more painful burn than plasma, and yet the young man had bore it stoically... for how long? To what end?

The doctor wasn't sure what to think, but he knew better than to think this was a friendly visit. If Richard had come to say he was joining the resistance, he would not have been sitting in the darkness 'long enough,' nor did Joshua need to ask what Richard meant. He knew the threat he represented to the young man's chance at freedom; the same threat he had placed in the convict's hands when he had told Richard about the Third Resistance: betrayal. It was what had kept him up in prayer hours past his bedtime despite his lack of sleep the previous night, and it troubled him still. "So if you didn't come to kill me," the doctor finally asked, "why are you here? Treatment wasn't your priority. That burn was well over an hour old."

Kill him? Riddick felt another strange sensation at the suggestion, a faint pang of regret that the man would think that, and that he would be so close to right. _Damn it, is this what you get from hanging around with religious folk? _he wondered_, a conscience? Or does it come from that other word... friends? _Riddick tried to ignore the feeling. "Lookin' fer answers," he stated simply.

There was something softly profound in that quiet statement. Not something that Joshua heard with his ears, but something he heard with his heart. "To what questions?" he inquired.

Riddick looked at him, a shadowed expression in his dark eyes, "Still tryin' to figure that out."

At that moment Joshua knew with a certainty that there was a reason Richard had come to Trishary 4 when he had; a reason the young man might not even be aware of, and he met the young convict's gaze, "Then take your time," he advised softly, "Sometimes what matters most in life has less to do with finding right answers, than it does with finding the right questions."

The doctor held Riddick's gaze a moment, then he calmly went back to packing his medical equipment. Riddick watched the man placing each item in the satchel just so, every piece to its place. Just who was this man? The convict had never seen anyone so hardwired to help others – it seemed to be an instinct as sharp as his own for survival. That didn't quite set up right with the doc's bein' involved in the front row of an organization out to change the political landscape through selective elimination of strategic individuals. It was a strange mix, and Riddick found a question on his lips that he hadn't intended to ask. "So how'd a doc like you get mixed up in this resistance business?"

"Indirectly, at first." The doctor answered without looking up, "Fourteen years ago I married a wonderful Godly woman named Sarah Pevency. She was also a doctor and had a clinic here in low town, although it wasn't quite so low when first I joined her. We made quite a team. God laid the same mission on both our hearts; He'd just given her a head start," Doc Josh flashed Riddick a smile and the doctor's eyes sparkled as he remembered his wife. "We had been running it together for three years when Steinen moved in. This led to our roundabout involvement with the first two resistances as we were among a small number of doctors here in Earratist City willing to help its members, their widows, their orphans. The first two resistance attempts were rage filled movements out to wipe Steinen from the face of the planet by any means, at any cost. We couldn't condone their methods, but we did what we could to help those hurt in conflict." He shook his head. "Sometimes I think to only ones that won in those fights were the ones that were killed... but then I think again." He said the last with resignation, then snapped his satchel shut sharply as if he wished he could end his thoughts on the matter with the same finality.

Joshua finally stood and put his satchel on the end of the bed, then stretched and settled back himself. He pulled himself up cross-legged on the bed then pulled the comforter over his bare legs to ward against the faint chill in the air, glancing over his troublesome trespasser as he did. Richard's brooding presence and unconscious authority brought the impression of a throne to the high back chair, and Joshua thought it strange how well the image suited the young man. But the doctor also knew he could expect no mercy from this illusionary monarch were judgment passed. _I'm trusting you, Lord, _Joshua thought silently then took a deep breath, "Within a year of the second failure, the Third Resistance began to form, organized by a man whose goal was not to wipe Steinen from the face of the planet, but to save lives by removing the man from his position of power. It is possible the end results may very well be the same, but the methods and ideology is completely different, and when Sarah and I learned of it, she felt called to do more."

"This is the don't kill them all, just the few in our way plan. Take over quietly and live happily ever after," Riddick stated with no small bit of sarcasm.

The doctor eyed the young convict, disturbed by the boy's tongue-in-cheek attitude. He couldn't help thinking if Richard was taking it so lightly, how could he possibly be trusted, but Joshua had made his commitment. _I'm trusting __**you**__, Lord,_ he repeated silently, but out loud he said, "You make it sound so trite, but – in essence – yes."

"I thought you Christians weren't suppose ta kill."

"We're not." the doctor answered honestly, "although the term in the Commandments is more correctly translated murder. There are occasions recorded in the Old Testament where God actually raised up individuals who would have to kill, but it was done for the good of God's people, not personal need or profit. Now, instituting the penalty of death is supposed to be a duty of those acting as the government. Individuals are not supposed to kill. Jesus expounded on that original commandment saying not just '_you shall not murder_,' but you shall not try to kill another's sense of self worth with harsh or angry words. He said to '_Love your neighbor as yourself_.' He even said '_love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you(__1__)'_."

The doctor smoothed out the cover over his legs in a curt gesture, "Ideally the government is supposed to protect even the least of its citizens," he said with quiet fury, "but Steinen has been doing much the opposite. The Bible also says we should obey our government, but Steinen is not our lawful government. Even if he were, I could not, in good conscience, be obedient to him but the people of Trishary 4 have no lawful way to remove him from his office. After much prayer and soul searching I am convinced what the Third Resistance is doing is necessary, and I must do all I can to save the lives of my neighbors and brothers. If it means killing I am resolved. I pray to accomplish my task without bloodshed... but if I am wrong, I will accept the consequences."

"Your ideals are goin' ta get **you** killed," Riddick muttered.

"Perhaps," Doc Josh smiled as if that thought didn't bother him greatly, "but if we are successful it will be worth it in the long run for many more lives will have been saved and I think, perhaps, God has heard my prayers, but we shall see."

_Is that the missing piece? _Riddick suddenly wondered absently, _His belief in God? His believin' that God actually cares about human piss ants like us and does stuff ta help us? _Was the Doc so caught up in his religion that he was a few degrees off sane? Or was it possible God really could care about the human trash that filled the universe? _Well, him maybe, but there's no way God would care 'bout a killer like me. _Riddick shrugged mental shoulders dismissing the thought as he continued to listen.

"But I didn't always think that way," Doc Josh shook his head, "When Sarah wanted to get involved, I argued that we could do more good staying neutral, not drawing attention to ourselves. A dead doctor helps no one; that was my argument, but my Sarah was nothing if not brave and passionate. We very much wanted to have children but what kind of world would we be bringing them into? She said too many children had been suffering for too long for her to stand idle any longer and she didn't want our little ones born under Steinen's rule."

Riddick watched the doctor's eyes. One moment they were bright, hopeful, proud and the next they dimmed, but the light didn't die. The light in Jacobson's eyes never died. "I should have listened. There is an old Earth Prime saying: All it takes for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing. That's what I did. Maybe if I had listened to her, if I had truly prayed about it, things would have been different, but honestly, I was afraid." He sighed and shook his head. "When Sarah died in a hit and run accident walking home from the clinic, I can't tell you how much that shook my faith. We hadn't planned it, but she'd gotten pregnant. I lost both my wife and my son in the same moment."

The doctor fell silent for a moment, then his expression grew grim. "Not quite a year after that Steinen asked me to work for him as his private on-call physician. It wasn't something I wanted to do, but while the people of low town needed the clinic more than ever, their ability to pay had decreased proportionately. Without Sarah the clinic was barely paying its bills. I needed new equipment, and patients were needing things I couldn't give them. Steinen and his money could fix that. I felt like I was considering a pact with the devil, but I was desperate."

"How'd you end up on Steinen's scanner ta start with?" Riddick interrupted, "I looked ya up and walked by yer clinic on the way here. You don't exactly advertise."

"No need," the doctor agreed, "Word of mouth is more than sufficient among those that need my services. No, after Sarah died, I moonlighted at the Erratist Hospital emergency room just to earn extra money. Early one evening the hospital called. I wasn't scheduled to work, but another doctor had to leave unexpectedly and they wanted to know if I would finish the shift. That's where I first met Steinen. Someone had tried to kill him with a bomb, but it had gone off prematurely. He and I arrived at the hospital at the same time." In his mind's eye Joshua could remember the moment clearly.

The ambulance team was in controlled panic as the vehicle arrived. Their patient had coded as they pulled in and Joshua stepped in amongst them assisting to return life to the burned and bloody body on the gurney before he was even officially on the clock... and that was just the beginning. He hadn't even known it was Steinen at the time, and to see guild leader now you would never guess how near a thing it had been. "He had been seriously injured," the doctor shook his head, "If I had known then what I know now, things might have gone differently," he shrugged his shoulders, "then again maybe not. Only God knows. As it is, I saved his life and I'm honestly not sure anyone else could have done it." Riddick noted there was no ego in the statement, if anything there was annoyance. "**That** is what brought me to Steinen's attention, and it wasn't long after I was working for him."

"You didn't know about his killin' Sarah then," Riddick noted.

Joshua looked up with a startled 'how'd you know about that' glance, then sighed inwardly. He knew he was not Richard's only information source. Who knew what the convict and Daria had talked about? It probably wasn't the weather. Daria was a smart girl, but she was convinced that Richard was the key to fixing all that ailed them and Joshua had given her no reason to distrust the boy. An oversight perhaps, but then Joshua had chosen to ignore his own good sense. _I'm trusting you, Lord._ He felt like Gideon(2), but he hadn't any time to lay out fleeces. "No," Joshua finally shook his head, "Though you can be sure Steinen did. It was probably a big joke to him. Kill the wife, hire the ignorant husband, but he was just holding open the door that God had unlocked for me. I know now my placement in the emergency room that evening, as unexpected as it was, was not an accident. God knew what was needed."

"And then you learned," the young man prompted.

"Yes," Joshua nodded, "It was three months after I started working for Steinen, almost to the day," Jacobson recounted, "The TR came to recruit me. Sarah knew how I felt and had made them promise to leave me alone. They honored that even after she died until..." the doctor took a deep breath, "until one of the resistance members who worked as a guild mechanic pulled an engine on one of the company vehicles. My wife had her idiosyncrasies, we all do; hers was bright hand made clothes. When she found a fabric she liked she would buy meters of it and have a seamstress here in low town make her shirts and skirts and dresses, then wear them till they came apart. She'd even save the scraps and for her own enjoyment would piece them together into patchwork designs that were quite beautiful. She had to get her money's worth she'd always tell me."

Joshua fell silent a moment, a faint smile on his lips as he recalled his wife's face when she had shown him the quilted jacket she'd made - the labor of a year's worth of spare moments - exclaiming how much she saved by recycling the scraps. It had become her favorite coat to wear about the city, and she would use it to tell children stories about Jesus as she challenged them to find the subtle scenes she had working into the multi-colored patchwork designs. The children loved looking for them and hearing stories about the one they'd found.

"Because we were physicians, a lot of people knew her, including the mechanic." Joshua continued, the thoughts about his wife delaying him only briefly for they were well practiced, bright spots in dark times, "The TR had long suspected Steinen had something to do with her death, they'd heard rumors, but they had no evidence. Then the mechanic found a scrap of fabric jammed in the engine mount of a vehicle frequently assigned to Captain Cuddian, Steinen's amoral right arm. The scrap was so tightly wedged that even after a year and some months, it was still recognizable as part of a patchwork jacket Sarah always wore. Then, and only then, did they approach me. Needless to say I wanted to kill Steinen, but they convinced me that it was not time, and I could be more valuable working with them until they were ready to move. Those in my cell helped me through grief renewed and rage as well. They helped me find my faith again, and God helped me find the heart to forgive."

"To forgive Steinen," Riddick growled somewhere between contempt and curiosity.

Doc Josh looked at Riddick. "Yes," the physician returned resolutely, "to forgive Steinen. If I didn't, my hate would have eaten me alive, not to mention I had to work for the man. There was no way I could hide the kind of rage I felt. Not only would it jeopardize my life and the TR, but it gave Steinen power over me. I would not give him that. He will not control my thoughts, my feelings or my life to any greater degree than I allow."

Made sense in a twisted way. But Riddick had another way. He just didn't care – at least he was trying very hard not to. "God did this for you," Riddick asked scornfully, "helped you forgive the bastard that killed yer wife?"

Joshua nodded solemnly, "It had to be God, for it was not something I could do alone, certainly not so soon. Left to my own devices, I would have stormed the headquarters, killed Steinen and sentenced many others to death with me. Steinen's runs his guild a great deal like a monarchy. His position is secure, but he does not have a child to inherit, and is too arrogant and wary to make known a successor. He enjoys watching his underlings compete for his favor, and too many of them think they'd be the best one to fill his shoes. Were Steinen to die before the TR was ready to act, there would be something akin to civil war within the guild and every planet where Steinen holds sway would be caught in the conflict. I **had** to forgive Steinen. Not just for my sake, but for his... ours," the doctor gestured absently to include everyone beyond the two of them.

"His? Steinen's?" Riddick asked in surprise, "I thought you hated him."

"I do. I hate the man," Doc Josh laughed and shook his head, "How can I explain this and not sound any crazier than you already think I am," he grinned briefly at the convict, "It would be more precise to say I hate what Steinen is now, I hate what he does, what he's done, but... well, when a man accepts Christ as his Savior, the Bible says he becomes a new creature; his heart is made new(3)." The doctor grew solemn, "God has promised me that the man I know as Steinen will die. I don't know if he will die as the wretched evil man he is now or if some inconceivable act of God is going to change him. Jesus said I should love him. I can't quite manage that right now, but I do pray for him daily, pray that he'll see the evil he's done. If he were to accept Christ, I could not hate him anymore, but regardless of what happens, I think God will have to help me out a little bit more before I can love him."

"You're right." Riddick said cynically, an edge of humor in his tone, "I think you're crazy."

Joshua laughed again. The Bible said the ways of God were foolishness to those who don't believe, or something very much like that, and he knew it to be true. He had been that been there once himself.

"How about you? Do you believe in God?" the doctor asked.

Riddick pause considering all he'd been through, all he'd seen and the vast universe that surrounded them. He wasn't any kind of scientist, but he'd never figured out how they could say that some big explosion at the beginning of it all had organized itself into neatly ordered galaxies and solar systems; in his experience explosions tended to have the opposite effect, not that he cared one way or the other. "Yeah, I suppose I do," the young man shrugged, "but He don't have much to do with me. It's mutual."

"You might be surprised," the doctor chuckled, and Riddick looked at the man curiously, "God is interested in the life of every man. He never stops trying to make contact with them, but some men are harder to get a hold of than others. Sometimes that is intentional on the man's part. Sometimes it is simply because the man doesn't know God or how to listen to Him."

_Yeah, right_, Riddick couldn't help but look skeptical, "You think God's trying to talk to me?"

Doc Josh shrugged, "I can't say for certain, except that in my experience, God sometimes has to put a man flat on his back to get his attention. '_Be still_,' He says in the Psalms, '_and know that I am God_.(4)' We are just too busy to hear him otherwise. I also don't believe in coincidence. That fall should have killed you, Richard. Even the distance from the pipe to the ground would have left most men dead, or at least suffering permanent damage, but isn't it remarkable that Daria just happened to be there to see you fall, and that she had a portable shield, and that she knew a doctor with the skill to help, and that doctor just happened to be Christian, and that you appear to have survived unscathed. Do you know what the chances of all that happening are?"

Joshua smiled knowingly, "Some might call it a rare streak of luck, but others would rightly call it a miracle. God cares for you, Richard, I know that for a fact," he paused briefly wanting those words to register then continued, "and, Yes, I think He is trying to talk to you. The question is are you ready to listen?" The doctor reached over to the bedside table and picked up the book. Not a vid-book, but a real book like the ones in the book case. Unlike those, however, this one had a well-worn cover and well-thumbed dura-paper pages. "Here, I like reading God's Word this way," Joshua held the book out to Riddick. "No power cells required," he grinned, "no memory to fail but my own," he tapped his head with a grin explaining his preference for the antiquated construction methods, "I want you to have this. God can speak to you through these pages if you're willing."

Riddick stared at the volume in the doctor's hand, making no move to take it, but the doctor was patient. After a long pause the young convict finally reached over and took the book. Ever so faintly he could make out the words Holy Bible embossed in the surface. The volume showed incredible wear despite its sturdy construction and it was steeped in the doctor's scent, a curious blend of the doctor's scents, fear, sadness, joy, but the thing that surprised Riddick most was that it somehow exuded a sense of warmth and love, as if the countless hours Joshua had spent in these pages had somehow imbued the volume with its owner's affection. "This is your book," Riddick glanced up startled, "the one Daria says yer always readin'." Joshua inclined his head in agreement. "I ain't takin' your book," Riddick protested, but the doctor smiled.

"I am glad you appreciate my fondness for it, but it is the subject I cherish, not the volume," the doctor answered, "I usually have extra copies on hand, but at the moment I'm out. Tell you what, I've ordered more so if it makes you more comfortable, when they come in I'll trade you. Until then, please consider this one your own. I am not completely without access. I do have it in vid-form as well." Riddick looked down at the old book again, "The Bible," the doctor explained, "is actually a collection of 66 separate books and letters. These various documents were written in two languages by 44 authors from diverse backgrounds over a period of 1500 years. These manuscripts were finally bound into one volume, but despite the number of authors and years involved in its creation the theme stayed consistent, a rather remarkable proof of its divine inspiration."

"If you say so," Riddick muttered, though he had to admit, getting 44 men to agree on anything, especially something as touchy as religion, over ANY period of time, would have been a tall order.

"There have been numerous translations through the centuries, but the heart of the message does not change. May I suggest you start with the book called John," the doctor offered, "It is actually some little way past half, but it is a good starting point for a first time reader. I will answer any questions I can, but right now I must get moving," the doctor slid off the bed, and after a brief hesitation, began to pull on his trousers, "especially if we want to stop by the clinic and finish your arm before I go. Today is going to be a busy day, a day of decisions. Do you want some ham and eggs?" he asked incidentally as he grabbed his shirt, "I think I've got enough for two...or four," he added with a grin glancing at Riddick's youthful frame, "if you don't mind that the eggs are synthetic and I'm a doctor, not a chef." Doc Josh's face grew wistful for a moment, but the moment passed quickly, "If Sarah were here, she would fix you the most sumptuous omelet you'd ever eaten, but with me in the kitchen, I fear your going to have to settle for scrambled."

Riddick grinned, "Can't be no worse than the food I ate in slam for near three years." It felt strange to be commenting on his past so idly to anyone.

"Ah," the doctor laughed, "If that is the basis of comparison, then perhaps I'll have you convinced I'm a gourmet." With that he slipped his feet in his boots and head for the door as he pulled on his shirt leaving the young convict alone, and for once Riddick had no inclination to follow, no fear that he need to kill the man before he could be betrayed. He trusted the doctor. It was a momentous revelation. The question was could the doctor trust him?

A day of decisions, the doctor had said. It was not said as a prompt, or even a reminder, just a statement of fact, and Riddick knew what was to be decided. Valuable intel to be gathered if he could get where those decisions were being made. He waited a time in the stillness of the empty room looking at the book in his hands, considering what the doctor had said, considering his options again, then slipped the book in the pocket of his cargos and got up, following the doctor to the kitchen.

When he arrived the doc was looking proper with shirt tucked in, boots secure, and he was busily preparing the meal. Riddick leaned against the dining room table watching the man move around the kitchen.

"Joshua," Riddick said lowly, causing the doctor to turn suddenly, "I'm in."

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****WRITER'S THANKS, NOTES & NEWS:**

**THANKS:**

**JacklynK:** Thanks for saying more good things and for being so faithful. I appreciate your comments, both the good and the critical. Sorry this took so long – school, kids, unpacking I should have been doing over the summer and trying to start winterizing in between make for very busy days, but I haven't given up :-). Are you going to be able to update any of yours soon:-)

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**CARE TO LOOK THEM UP? Here's the Bible references used in this chapter:**

1) Matthew 5:44

2) Story starts in Judges 6:11

3) 2 Corinthians 5:17

4) Psalm 46:10


	18. Chapter 18: The Writing on the Wall

(I created a lot of this, but not Riddick, as stated in COPYRIGHTS listed in chapter 1)

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**Chapter 18**

**The Writing on the Wall**

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"What do you mean it's not there?" Steinen said dangerously. "You said you threw him off the cliff! You said you saw the body in the rocks! **You said** you KILLED him!"

The rage in the guild leader's voice grew with each sentence, but Captain Cuddian knew his superior's moods well enough to know there was something else in there... something he couldn't account for.

"Are you telling me you threw Richard Riddick off the Cityside Cliffs and he GOT UP AND WALKED AWAY!?!" Steinen slammed the talon bladed knife Cuddian had brought him down into the imported wood meeting table and Cuddian flinched. It wasn't just anger at a plan gone awry. If the captain didn't know better, he would almost think Steinen was afraid.

"No, no!" Captain Cuddian answered quickly, "There's no way he walked away from this. We found where he landed. We found blood all over the rocks, but it was already getting dark down there and we couldn't stay and search as thoroughly as we wanted. It was getting too cold." He tried to keep a little distance between himself and the guild leader, "But one of the wall patrols thought he saw a Cairn Bear down there before the fight. We're thinking the beast may have taken him."

"You're... thinking?" Steinen snarled.

"Well, the Big Freeze wiped out any trail. There's no way to know for certain..." Cuddian hedged.

Steinen seemed to swell as his anger grew.

"Unless, of course, we find the bear," Cuddian added quickly, "I'm organizing a squad to start searching the canyon this morning. With the Big Freeze coming in, it couldn't have gone far. It must be living nearby. You don't need the whole body, right? Just enough to prove that Riddick's dead?" The dangers of trying to follow a Cairn Bear in its long twisting lair to try and take its food paled in comparison to what he saw in Fredrick Steinen's face at the moment. "An arm? A leg? Would that be enough?"

Steinen roared. "His HEAD, you idiot, I want HIS HEAD!" He wrenched the talon knife from the table and swung at the captain. Cuddian jerked back, but not before the tip of the blade cut a furrow across on cheek. "I want no questions! No need for forensic reports! I want his HEAD!"

The blade was razor sharp, the incision so clean that Cuddian felt less than a scratch despite the blood that soon began to spill down to his cheek. "His head!" the captain repeated franticly backing away from Steinen, "Yes sir!" Cuddian fled the room knowing he wouldn't even waste time stopping by the med ward – he didn't dare risk Steinen's anger further. He was under no illusions. His value to Steinen was completely dependent on his being the critical yes-man... and a successful one at that - a record that was, all at once, in sudden jeopardy. How could one man wreak such havoc to his comfortable life? He cursed the name of Richard Riddick as he rushed down hall organizing the canyon search with subordinates over his hand-com as fast as his mouth could issue the orders. He could only wonder what kind of demons a man like Steinen could be wrestling to put him in such a state. An old fashioned Stanch Pad snagged from a hall station First Aid Kit would stop the bleeding on his cheek until he had more time because he knew he certainly had none now.

Cuddian wouldn't even realize how deep he'd been cut until the cold of the canyon worked it's way into the wound, and he would never know how close his thoughts regarding Steinen's fears were; fears that were even now causing the guild leader to question his rationality.

"Door, LOCK!" Steinen growled as he stalked across the room, his eyes automatically touching the locations where he had weapons hid. This was his domain, and he knew all it's secrets. He jammed the talon knife back in it's display, not even noticing as it toppled off the holder to thump heavily to the base of the exhibit. His mind was dominated by his dream.

Fredrick Steinen hated Joshua Jacobson. The man was a damn good doctor; the best Steinen had ever run across. The man could have been a Who's Who in some galactic medical field if his fanaticism to a dying religion didn't make him so insanely stupid, not that Steinen was complaining about that. If Jacobson was working where he should be, Steinen would have never been able to afford him. As it was now, by paying the man a modest monthly stipend, getting the man what he needed to update his lab and equipment, and occasionally footing the bill for him play doctor with the big stuff at with hospital, Steinen secured the services of a premium doc at a bargain price. So long as the doctor kept expenses within reason, the guild leader was willing to let him play. It wasn't that Steinen was being generous. He considered it insurance. If the Doc needed to work on him, Steinen wanted the man to be in practice and up to date, but he was beginning to wonder if the doctor was really such a bargain – or if, perhaps, it wasn't time for another Jacobson to die.

It wasn't the doctor's skills he questioned, nor even the man's loyalty. Oh, there was no love lost between them. In fact beneath the doctor's infuriatingly composed and professional facade Steinen was relatively certain the man hated him, but he was just as certain Jacobson's unfailing honesty would also compel the doctor to tell Steinen if he was ever unable to offer his best effort on the guild leader's behalf, and Steinen just didn't see that happening. Jacobson would go above and beyond to save a life - any life - even his. The doctor had proven that already.

Nor was it the fact Jacobson had quietly assigned himself to play Steinen's local conscience. That began less than a month after he'd hired the man. Steinen had learned of a rebel meeting planned to take place in the back room of a bar. Still smarting from an attack by the Third Resistance on a munitions bunker, Steinen decided his anger needed a target. He didn't care if this little group was TR or some other group of hot-heads. They were elected to be the example. He had Cuddian and his own personal guard go in without warning and level the bar during the meeting, THEN he made sure everyone knew why. His team reported evidence of 13 bodies in the back room. Jacobson had shown up later the next day just to make sure Steinen realized there were 22 OTHER bodies in the rubble and to offer his services in identifying them in case Steinen wanted to make reparation to families for their 'accidental' deaths. More collateral than targets, but Steinen didn't really care – there was no way they were all innocent – but the doctor's righteous opinions were a burden Steinen was willing to put up with to get a damn good doctor.

But a year ago the doctor's other half came to call on the guild leader. It was the night that little back talking snip he'd picked up at the orphanage went too far. Steinen had gone to bed fully expecting to go to sleep and have Cuddian quietly dispose of the trash in the morning. Quietly... because Steinen didn't want to unnecessarily fuel the hostilities. Quietly... because he didn't want Jacobson hearing about it. But Joshua Jacobson didn't need to hear about it. Sarah Jacobson was already waiting for him in his dreams.

Why her?! Why now? Had the presence of this religious fanatic with such a blatant moral compass finally pushed him over the edge? Was it the fact he'd killed the man's wife – that he was responsible for her death? Steinen didn't know, but he knew who she was as soon as he saw her. He remembered her: her pretty face, her red hair. She stood in some surreal shadowed landscape with a young man by her side, his hands upon her shoulders. Behind her shapes and movement revealed people he could not quite see, but somehow he knew who they were. They were people who had died at his hand – directly or indirectly over the years. Not soldiers. Not mercs. Not people who had made the choice to serve or fight, but innocents. Avoidable collateral damage, victims, lessons. There was a murmur in their midst as he stood before them, but it was the woman, Jacobson's wife, that spoke. "What have you done?" and though he knew on the surface she spoke of Daria, the depth of her question included all who stood behind her. Their lives suddenly had weight and he felt it ready to descend upon his soul like a judgment. "Where can you find forgiveness, Fredrick Steinen?" she asked in a regretful voice, "How can your sins be reconciled?" Sins. Not just the lives behind her, but they were enough.

He had snarled back an answer and woke with a start, drenched in a cold sweat, but even consciousness held no reprieve from the awful impression of the condemnation harbored in the darkness of his dream. What did he have to feel guilty about, he argued. He was just a businessman doing his job, protecting his interests! And yet as hard as he tried to justify them, the questions remained, and as he wrestled with himself in the darkness he suddenly realized that he heard the faint sound of a rasping breath from the body on the floor. With the dream so fresh and real in his mind, there was a sudden desperate need to act - to remove the burden of one life - however small - from the weight hung over his soul. He called Jacobson.

In the light of morning the dream was more distant, but it was not forgotten. It could not be forgotten – not completely, and when Jacobson came back a few days later to tell him the girl had died, it seemed Steinen heard two voices. Even as he realized Daria's blood was still on his hands, he heard the echo of Sarah Jacobson's voice in his mind, "Where can you find forgiveness, Fredrick Steinen? How can your sins be reconciled?"

It had been that way for the past year, and it was infuriating Steinen. On occasion he even found himself second-guessing decisions just because it might bring an unsanctioned visit from his self appointed conscience with its newly acquired echo. Rebellion stirred in the guild leader's soul pushing him to new ruthlessness, but last night he had another dream...

It chilled him to his soul!

"Where can you find forgiveness, Fredrick Steinen?" Sarah had asked in her regretful voice, "How will your sins be reconciled?" Steinen had wanted to snarl his answer and get the dream over with but dread held his tongue. He knew in his heart there was no forgiveness for him. No one could forgive the things he'd done, and in his silence the young man beside Sarah spoke with a voice so like Jacobson's that Steinen suddenly knew he had to be the doctor's son.

"A reckoning is coming," the young man warned.

_'Impossible'_ Steinen thought, _'the child wasn't even born when she died!'_

"Who are you to say what is impossible for God," the young man chastised as if he had heard the thought, "Say instead you are ready to stand in judgment for your sins, for your day is fast approaching."

"When?" Steinen had demanded.

The young man shook his head. "You would know when, and yet you have already been given more warning than most ever receive and have done nothing."

"When!" Steinen shouted.

"Sooner than you would wish," the young man had answered grimly.

Steinen woke in another cold sweat. His day was coming! A reckoning of his sins! He didn't even believe in God and the stupid stuff he'd read in that damn Bible! How could he be held accountable for his sins by something he didn't even believe in? And yet he knew, alone in the naked darkness of his room, that none of this was his imagination. How? How was this reckoning to occur? If he knew how, he could find a way out of it. God couldn't plan for every contingency, could He? If Steinen could just figure out how... and in his mind he heard another voice that had been no part of the dream, but that was fast becoming part of a nightmare.

"If you don't have a body, I suggest you find it because if you can't you'd better be watching your backs."

Riddick!

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****WRITER'S THANKS, NOTES & NEWS:**

**THANKS:**

**JacklynK**** –** Thanks (again :o). Sometimes it seems like coming up with the name of a story or chapter is harder than the writing itself – LOL. I try to make them relevant, but they need to be interesting too. I don't think that it is one of my strongest suits :o).  
Thanks for the comment about the language too. I'll try to keep an eye out for it, but I suspect I often do it without realizing. If you run into it again, feel free to cut and paste an example into the review so I can become more familiar with what I'm doing. This is especially important because I have an **international** fan base _(preen, preen, cough, cough ;O)_. No, seriously, I've learned several of my regulars are not reading in their native language so it is probably even worse for them _**I**__ have a hard enough time with English and it __**IS**__ my native language :o). _Thanks for pointing it out. I like to improve anywhere I can.

**Ixchon**** –** Hi and thanks for the high praise. I am glad you are enjoying the story so much and hope you will continue to share your thoughts. I am Christian and it is a challenge including God in a story and trying to keep Riddick in character, but I am enjoying it.  
Sorry you've had to wait for so long for an update. The first reason is that this story has turned into the second (chronologically) in an arc of four leading up to Pitch Black (all currently "in progress," – see my continuing promise below). Second, Daria has been wrestling with some issues, but we're making progress ;o). Hopefully you won't have to wait as long for Chapter 19.

**Quinnell**** – **Welcome aboard! I really appreciated your review! Not just because you have good things to say _(what author doesn't __love__ that :o)_ but because you point out specific things you liked. It's nice to know when I do well; it's even better to know WHAT I did well _(likewise, what I've done wrong)._  
I enjoy backstories as well – I think it is a special challenge to come up with an original piece of fiction that fits within a pre-established framework without contradicting it (if possible), and I'm amazed that a single line of dialogue can literally spawn chapters but you're right. Because this is backstory Riddick **can't** have his bounties removed so I will have to wend my way back to canon here shortly. Hope you'll stick around and tell me what you think of future chapters :o)

**MY CONTINUING PROMISE:**  
As much as I hate it when other writers get 'distracted' by other stories and don't update the one **I'm** reading as fast as I'd enjoy, I have discovered that there are times other stories insist on being written. The result? I have four stories currently 'in progress' for your perusal – as they are all of a 'back story' nature in Riddick's timeline they would occur thusly: Saved by Grace, Be Still: Chances, Turn About and Nigh Unto Christmas.  
The good news is that each story has been generally plotted and outlined, and only ("only" **¤**LOL**¤**) needs to be fleshed out. The bad? That takes time, especially when divided between 4 stories, 3 kids, (2 six and under), 1 husband and the life that contains them all and more, so writing time comes at a premium. What it means for my readers is that updates to this story may be intermittent. I do, however, **promise** it won't be abandoned barring death or other equally drastic life change. Updates will come, please be patient, (and, of course, be aware that **feedback** is an incredibly powerful motivator ;o) but until then, may God bless you all the time in-between.

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**CARE TO LOOK THEM UP? Here's the Bible references used in this chapter:****  
**OK, so this isn't an actual "in the story" Bible reference, but I am sometimes amazed at the number of phrases that we use in our everyday language that are direct allusions to the Bible. They have been around so long or are so commonly used, however, that they now exist separate from their literary source, meaning if a person is familiar with the phrase, they don't need any knowledge of the Bible to understand what it means. "The Writing on the Wall" is just such a phrase. If you read, 'When Justine got an F or her third physics test, she knew the writing was on the wall,' you probably understand Justine is going to fail physics. But did you know that phrase gets its meaning directly from the Bible? If not, and you are curious you can look it up: Daniel 5:5.


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